Zombies On A Plane_Still Alive Book Three
Page 1
ZOMBIES
ON
A
PLANE
ZOMBIES
ON A
PLANE
☠☠☠
STILL ALIVE
BOOK THREE
Javan Bonds
Copyright © 2017 Javan Bonds &
If I Only Had A Monkey Publishing
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in
any form without permission from the publisher, except as
permitted by U.S. copyright law.
For permissions contact: ifionlyhadamonkey@gmail.com
Cover by Covers by Christian
www.coversbychristian.com
ISBN-13: 978-1542803991
ISBN-10: 1542803993
☠☠☠
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my parents. I wouldn’t have been able to publish these works without my dad. I would have been nagged a lot less about my vulgarisms if my mom was not my alpha reader.
Thanks to my phenomenal editor at Swift Creative Writing, Sheila Shedd. I wouldn’t be the writer I am today without her tutelage.
Thanks to my beta readers, Dr. Larry Johnston, Kao Kikuyama, Glen Mardis (Peevie Claus), Mandy Owens, and Taft Reeves.
Thanks to my final proofreader, Donna Shields. It’s always good to have an extra set of eyes read over my drivel.
Thanks to my hero, the original inspiration for this series and the author of the foreword for this book, Mark Tufo. If not for Zombie Fallout, you would not be reading Still Alive.
Thanks to Rhiannon Frater, Seanan McGuire (Mira Grant), ZA Recht, and all the others that keep me entertained while I’m writing.
Thanks to Akambiya Mwanza, my real life Zambian friend. She is the physical inspiration for Aka and helped me with some of the Zambian culture. See? I really do know black people!
Thanks to my bodybuilder brother, Ethan Bonds. He is the inspiration for Easy and everything you read about the character is Ethan, besides the lack of a sense of humor.
Thanks to Christian. Not only for the awesome cover design, but for the hilarity his translations from English provide.
Javan Bonds
Disclaimer
THIS IS A work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblances to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Foreword
What is it about Z-Poc books that keeps them going, keeps readers devouring them the minute they hit the shelves? I mean, with all that work out there you’d think we would have covered all possible scenarios and outcomes and we’d be prepared for the end and the monsters and battles…but that’s just it…we don’t know what to expect. We need new writers, new stories, fresh blood, and most of all, original monsters to keep us looking forward to that day we all get to fight for survival.
That’s what’s great about Javan Bonds’ Still Alive series; it’s a strikingly new, extremely twisted perspective on the End of Days–that, and it’s damned funny. Even when faced with naked, filthy, cannibals leaving a trail of excrement behind them, Bonds’ main character and chronicler, Mo Collins, still has “man problems” to deal with. Fighting these progressively cognizant “Peevies” (plague victims) by night and his own frustrations with parents, his love life, and his own apathy by day, Mo is the perfect Every Guy. You gotta root for him.
Javan’s series has some wild scenes of gore, and that’s just his sex life…the zombies are even more disgusting. His life and characters are mimicking a movie plot, which is a cool tie-in to our other favorite medium, and he thinks his destiny might be written.
But guess what, Mo? It isn’t. Win or die, that’s on us whether we travel with a Prophet or go it alone. Collins’ journey is just beginning, and it’s an exciting, unexpectedly original one.
Plus, you know, how cool is it to live on a replica pirate ship?
Mark Tufo
Horror Author of the Award Winning Zombie Fallout series and Highest rated Author on Goodreads
Cast of Characters
(In Order Of Appearance)
Elmo “Mo” Collins: The Hero and Chronicler. Acting Captain of the Viva Ancora; Jack of No Trades.
Crow: Cook and Crewmate on the Viva Ancora. Permanent Resident Fisherwoman. Given name later discovered to be Rose.
Marlon “Smokes” Williamson: The Oracle. Gangbanger, Dope Dealer (Ret.); Interpreter and Channeler of The Screenwriter.
Petunia “Hammer” Sledge: The Expert. Captain, US Marine Corp, Special Ops (Ret). Owner of Bottom Dollar Pawn; Extreme Survivalist.
Gene Stanley: The Tech. PhD Mechanical Engineering (pending); Owner, Excelsior Comics and Collectables; Collector of Fantasy/Science Fiction Memorabilia.
Bradley Gage: The Old Friend. National Champion Sharpshooter, Paraplegic Trainer and Bodybuilder.
Mary: The Innocent. Capuchin Monkey, Service Animal (partnered with Bradley.) Clearly wise compared to most of the other characters.
Cast of Characters Continued
Sarah Ogle: The Love Interest. Longtime Friend and Love-of-His-Life to Mo.
Randy Collins: Leader of The Similar (Former). Mo’s Father, Interim Mayor of the Island of Guntersville; Amateur Survivalist.
Debbie (Mrs.) Collins: The Hero’s Mother. Conservative Matriarch. Never uses nicknames.
Dr. Philip George: The Medicine Man. Cardiologist, Indian, discovered to be Phantom commander in the Indian NSG. Sniper.
Tychus Jones: The Loner. Janitor and Sharp shooter National Guardsman (Ret.) Owner of house cat, Adjutant.
Ezekiel “Easy” Collins: Mo’s brother. Bodybuilder and extreme health enthusiast. The Protector and Nursing degree (pending).
Akambiya “Aka” Ngona: Easy’s fiancée. Dam Technician and Nursing degree (pending).
The Phantom HITs: Kumar, Mahatma, Rejesh and Sanjay. Subordinates of Dr. George, Indian NSG commandos.
Cast of Characters Continued
Georgia Daniels: wife of The Builder (deceased). Love Interest to Gene, Mother of Hunter.
Earl Buckalew: The Betrayer, missing and presumed dead after leaving Bottom Dollar just after May Day. Aligns himself with The Villian.
Cheryl Slice: The Dictator. Warden of the Joseph A. Davidson State Correctional Facility,
Captain Jonathan Bobbit: The Villian. U S Army officer, Megalomaniac.
Sojourner “Soje” Williamson: The Man of God. Farmer, Preacher. Patriarch of the Williamson Clan.
Annihilation has no terrors for me, because I have already tried it before I was born–a hundred million years–and I have suffered more in an hour, in this life, than I remember to have suffered in the whole hundred million years put together.
Mark Twain
Prologue
“THIS IS CLARK Carson, reporting live from the city of Guntersville. It’s the city’s first annual Cinco de Mayo parade and celebration. US 431 has been diverted to northbound traffic only to help in the evacuation from an outbreak of a highly contagious flu bug originating from Mobile, so the festivities that were scheduled for Gunter Avenue have been moved to Sunset Drive. We are standing right across from Civitan Park.”
The cameraman panned to the right, showing large groups of spectators lining the road. There were people sitting along the sidewalk in lawn chairs, a large tent selling Mexican flags, and vendors selling ice cream and various other treats and merchandise. Though a bit cloudy, it was warm and not too humid; most would call it a perfect day.
Ranchero music began playing as the first float-carrying truck rounded the bend. The camera zoom
ed in on a paper-mâché sombrero with children throwing candy from the sides.
Before the next truck could be seen, viewers could hear a woman screaming in terrible pain from somewhere off-camera.
The cameras spun to the parking lot in front of Piggly Wiggly. A woman was being attacked by what appeared to be a pale blue, naked man. He was on top of her, leaning in to kiss, or bite, the woman on the neck. She let out another scream, and before she had even closed her mouth, her attacker was already up, running to tackle another shopper.
The woman used her buggy to keep the man at bay while she drew a pistol from her purse. This being Alabama, it wasn’t surprising that she was carrying. The lunatic just shoved the buggy out of the way and was about to pounce when she put five bullets into his chest.
The reporter mumbled something off screen and the camera cut back to him. “This is Clark Carson, reporting live from Guntersville. We just witnessed an obviously deranged man assault a woman at the Piggly Wiggly.
He ran from his first victim to attack another shopper, unprovoked, and she put several rounds from her handgun into his torso. Hopefully, the police will arrive shortly.”
Sirens could be heard in the distance and the music, which had stopped, started up again. The camera turned back around as the trucks began moving; the Cinco de Mayo parade was back in gear. The floats lined the street, people seemed to be enjoying themselves. The horrifying scene at the Piggly Wiggly was quickly forgotten.
Another bloodcurdling scream came from behind the camera, and again it spun. Police cars and an ambulance had gathered in front of the grocery store; suddenly another naked man launched himself at one of the officers. Three other officers had pistols trained on the crazy attacker. Screaming at him to “drop to the ground!” did absolutely nothing, and he charged directly at them. What seemed like dozens of rounds riddled his body, flinging him backwards. The filthy, crazed man sank to the ground, red pooling beneath him.
The reporter mumbled something to the cameraman, but before he could turn around, another insane, nude, screaming person broke from the trees behind the store.
The camera focused on the action as yet another came from the woods. Two more. Another. Now dozens of frenzied, naked, blue individuals rushed into the parking lot. Sirens blared from across the island as emergency vehicles rushed to the scene.
The bright sun seemed to bother the madmen. As they emerged from the cover of the woods, they squinted and covered their eyes, which, the reporter noted, appeared yellow. None attempted to enter the Piggly Wiggly, but were happy to attack fleeing customers as they tried to escape to their cars.
With the camera still watching the violence across the street, the reporter clicked his microphone on and began speaking from off-screen. “This is Clark Carson reporting live from Guntersville. We are at the Cinco de Mayo parade watching an unbelievable scene unfold across the street.”
Police officers were emptying magazines as naked people hurled themselves at anyone within reach.
Bullets were flying. As the melee grew, it was hard to tell if citizens were falling from attack or had been taken by crossfire. The yellow-eyed lunatics were winning, at least in their minds; especially when “winning” meant getting a bite of people meat.
They would jump on a victim, bring their teeth down on exposed flesh, tear out a chunk, and then move on to their next target.
None of the victims were killed outright. Each rose slowly and wandered to their cars or into the store, dazed by the attack. Finally, there were no more unbitten people left in the large parking lot, so the crazies honed in on the large crowd which stood fixated on the scene a few hundred yards away. The cameraman started backing up when the nut cases began coming straight for the Cinco de Mayo parade. A few of the brave spectators came from behind the cameraman to send pistol rounds at the rushing attackers, but within seconds, the bluish lunatics were among the crowd, biting everyone in sight.
Clark Carson could be heard babbling as he started moving about. “Holy shit! They are…they’re just fucking biting people!” The camera would catch glimpses of the occasional soul bold or stupid enough to put up a fight; most just tried to flee. The entire crowd was panicking; screaming and crying becoming one chaotic noise. “Fuck this!” The cameraman shouted and dropped his camera before running. It lay on its side, facing the grocery store–a nearly uncountable herd of nude, yellow-eyed, screaming cannibals were covering the screen.
The reporter picked up the camera and held it in his left hand, facing behind him. He started running like his life depended on it. And it did. Reporting the news to the end, he described what he saw as he ran.
“This is Clark Carson reporting live from Guntersville. The Cinco de Mayo parade was disrupted by naked terrorists attacking everyone they could catch.” He was staying on the road, almost to the river bridge. His shoes could be heard thudding on the pavement over screams of terror.
Blue flashers leapt onto anyone slow enough to be overtaken by the rushing tide. Like completely wild animals, the crazies threw themselves at oncoming vehicles, occasionally smashing through windshields and fighting with drivers. Carson, still bouncing the camera along, began going uphill with the bridge. Three lunatics noticed the lone man heading over the bridge. They stopped chasing the dog that was not having any part of this shitfest and turned their attention to the tiring runner.
Bare feet smacking against pavement is a very distinct sound; especially when it is the one thing a person dreads hearing. Clark quickly glanced back. “Motherfucker!” His pace picked up considerably as he neared the top of the southbound lanes of the bridge, but he was winded.
He was sure going down would be easier; it would also be easier for the vicious cannibals behind him.
He began crying as his feet started impacting concrete rather than asphalt. As he crested the hill, the loonies were nearly on him.
Less than a dozen yards away and screaming, it was easy to see their dangling genitals, yellow eyes, and bloodstained mouths. Clark Carson knew there was no escape. No miracle. The camera hung loosely in his hand, filming his attackers below the knee. “Mama, I–” The cry for his mother was cut short. The leading monster dove at his back and knocked the camera to the ground. One of the insane naked people planted a foot on the top of the lens, ending Clark Carson’s live report from Guntersville the day the zombies came to TOWN.
☠☠☠
1
Mo Journal Entry 1
I AM CURRENTLY on a plane that will soon be landing in Birmingham, Alabama–if the pilot does not plow us into a mountain. I figured I should introduce myself and my companions just in case you have discovered this journal in the ruins of Birmingham beside either a pile of bones or clothes. You guessed it, if this is the first of my journals you are reading, I’m dead or blue.
My name is Mo Collins, I’m twenty-nine, and I’m pretty average–or at least I was, before Smokes dubbed me The Hero of our little horror show. Please find Guntersville Island in Marshall County, Alabama and give this notebook to the interim mayor, my father, Randy Collins. By the way, yes, I am a dude. And thanks for not immediately thinking of the chick from Mad TV.
The pilot of this single engine plane is Marlon “Smokes” Williamson, whom I have dubbed The Oracle because apparently, he knows every possible outcome in this screenplay my life seems to be following.
The only other passenger is The Expert, Captain Petunia “Hammer” Sledge. She’s one of those former military bad asses, eyepatch and all that has killed more people than I’ve ever even met and she is insanely delusional.
She thinks all the peevies, (our word for the plague victims, who are basically zombies), are simply communists that need to be eliminated. I feel so safe surrounding myself with an extremely over-weight version of Chris Tucker and the one eyed lunatic sister of Kathy Bates. How did Hammer lose her eye? I don’t have the balls to ask her.
Actually, I don’t suppose it’s too bad; I’ve been around them both for close to a month
and so far so good. We met right after May 1, the initial day the infection broke in America. Somehow I’ve avoided dying in a grotesque fashion, or any fashion, I guess.
Anyway, Smokes is the sole reason I am where I am right now and why everything has played out like it has since our meeting. I have become, and will remain, a firm believer in his gospel–at least until I have the smallest reason to doubt. This nutty professor has introduced and continues to introduce me to all the characters I’m supposed to meet.
Back in Guntersville, where our adventures started, there is The Tech, The Old Friend, The Love Interest, The Man of God, The Medicine Man…what’s left of The Similar, and a shitload of insignificant characters who started flocking to the island once we made it an actual island. We are on our way to Birmingham to find the second part of The Reasons (all heroes need quests, reasons to go, reasons to stay), my brother, Ezekiel “Easy” Collins, and maybe come across a few other inevitables on our trip to fill out our character list. The first installment of The Reasons was addressed in my first two journals when I rescued my parents and Sarah Ogle, the woman I’ve been madly in love with for a decade, from The Villain, a rogue, ironfisted unit of former US military troops led, to my amusement, by a Cpt. Bobbitt. I’m hoping we’ll find Easy alive in his dorm room so we can turn around and be home before the sun goes down, when the fucking nocturnal peevies start coming out.