Super Zombies from Outer-Space

by Douglas Browning

  Douglas Browning

  SUPER ZOMBIES FROM OUTER SPACE

  Dedication

  This one is for mom and dad. I wouldn't have made it this far without your help.

  Strange shapes light up the night

  Never seen them though I hope I might

  Don't ask if they are real

  The men in black, their lips are sealed.

  -Blue Oyster Cult "Take Me Away"

  1

  Rescue 911. Do you have an emergency?

  [MUFFLED VOICE]

  Hello?

  Something crashed from the sky! [WOMAN'S VOICE]

  What fell?

  There's smoke and a fire! Jesus!

  We've traced your call and there are police and fire en route. Please stay on the line. Can you describe it to me? Is it a plane?

  No. It's shiny. [CHILDREN WHIMPERING.] Oh my God! He's coming toward the house! He's coming toward the house!

  Who?

  I don't know what it is!

  Ma'am, it says here this number belongs to the Van Lou residence. To whom am I speaking?

  Libby. [SCREAMING?] It's not human!

  I need you to calm-

  CLICK.

  * * * * *

  The CB crackled when Sheriff Donahue was about to take a lunch break. In Brownsville most calls consisted of some old lady complaining about her neighbor’s loud music or a loose dog or underage drinking. Every now and then a few break-ins spiced things up, or maybe the occasional car accident, but the low speed limits and over patrolling cops kept the streets safe. The town was dead, but that was a good thing.

  "Possible AC, Sheriff. Suspicious person too. Over," Carmen, dispatch, said.

  "AC? Are you serious?"

  "As cancer. 189 Washington. Mrs. Libby Van Lou. Sounds terrified. Get on it. All available units. We've even got the FD in on this."

  Sheriff Donahue never dealt with a downed aircraft before. Should pick up a slow morning. He caught a kid smoking pot earlier, the highlight of his entire week. He confiscated the pot, but the kid was so young Donahue just gave him the standard shame on you lecture and reported him to his parents, who seemed angry enough.

  "Roger. Over and out." He hit the sirens and pulled a U-turn onto Washington, which headed through the heart of town. He rolled a curb and spilled hot coffee on himself. Lady luck was being a bitch that morning.

  A bitch indeed. Earlier a God awful message on the answering machine from that asshole pharmacist, who refused to give him a fill on that erectile dysfunction medication because it wasn’t moral, slapped Donahue in the face. Sorry Sheriff, looks like you’re gonna have to break your little wife’s heart and tell her why you can’t make babies.

  An AC.

  Donahue winced at the thought of working through a downed plane, especially one of those big 747’s. But the crash couldn’t have been that big. He would have heard the impact. It was only a few minutes down the road.

  “Jesus, please let this be a grassfire.”

  * * * * *

  Libby was thirty-nine years old and the mother of four children –all of them under eight. Her husband was Andrew Van Lou, the owner of a local grocery store up on the northwest side of town. Life had been normal. Libby sat in her family room, watching the Price is Right when a bang in the back yard rattled the house. A family picture fell on the floor and shattered.

  Libby gawked out back and saw dark smoke rising from something on the ground. She couldn’t tell what it was. A gap in the blackness allowed her to see a gleam of silver, but that was her only hint. Jason and the kids rushed downstairs, asking what the boom was.

  While she was on the phone with 911, screaming her throat dry (and scaring the living hell out of her children), Jason saw it, a silver sphere, about the size of Mommy's car. A man walked through the smoke. He might not have been a man. He might have been monster. Jason tugged his mother’s arm until she saw the scary man.

  She took the kids and bolted to the closet of the boys' room. Jason, the oldest, was in her left arm, and Amy, the youngest was in her right. Both of them had their faces buried in her chest. The two middle children, Rachel and Ernie, clung to her back.

  It was clearly a boys' room upon entering. White wallpaper decorated with various football helmets covered the walls. Bunk beds rested in the far corner, and toys were scattered all over the floor that had once been in the closet, but shoved out to make way for hiding.

  “Are we going to die, Mommy?” The sound of Rachel’s voice eviscerated her.

  “No, honey. Be quiet.”

  Then she wondered why she hadn’t just run away outside, maybe to the neighbors. It wasn’t a guarantee it would have worked, of course. The kids were short legged and slow. But if they would have made it, Mr. Grossman had a nice shotgun collection that he kept loaded above his fireplace. It was too late to play the what-if game though.

  The sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen downstairs. He’s in. Whoever he is, he’s in.

  The grips of the children tightened, and a shroud feeling of fear washed over her body. The kids could sense it. They trembled as they clung to her. Libby shook her head and tried to knock out the worry. She wanted her final moments with her children to be peaceful.

  Stop thinking like that, goddamnit. You’re not going to die.

  She heard a whimper from Amy on her right, but Jason shushed her. Libby wondered what was going through their minds. Are we going to die, Mommy? I have to go potty. Why are we in here? Jason understood. He saw the intruder first. Its head was unusually large, the belly hung out of his body, and two twig-like little legs supported its frame. Libby couldn’t remember much else. She blacked out for a moment when she was lost in panic.

  Children’s tears watered Libby's Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Soon it would be children’s blood. The image flashed in front of her face as if she were looking at a photo. The children’s heads were twisted backwards, blood soaked her shirt, and tears flushed down her cheeks.

  “No,” Libby whispered. Jason shushed her. A spark of fear ignited the boy’s face. Libby wondered if he had seen the image too.

  I’m going to kill your family, Libby, something inside of her said.

  “Did any of you hear that?” Libby whispered.

  “Hear what?” Jason said.

  “Nothing, just be quiet.”

  I’m going to kill them, Little Libby. Little Libby was something her husband called her on account of how short she was. The voice knew. Somehow the goddamn voice knew.

  I know EVERYTHING, Libby.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs. It knew she was in there. She couldn’t move though. Her body was cramping up from the fear. Libby's children could sense this, but none of them made a peep because the footsteps quickened, and that meant that the bad man would find them if they were loud.

  Libby–

  “Shut up!” she screamed.

  The children looked up at their mother with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

  “Mom–” Jason screamed, but he was interrupted by the creaking of the closet door.

  2

  The sun hung in a sharp blue, cloudless sky. The gentle wind created a comfortable outdoors, regardless of the ninety-five degree heat. She lay happily in her hammock and read a Danielle Steel paperback, which served as a replacement for the lack of romance in her life. Sandy’s husband died in a car accident about three years before. It left her with their only child, Lisa, who was now eighteen and as gorgeous as a supermodel. Although Sandy wasn’t completely alone, she still missed Ray. Hell, she’d probably never be over it one hundred percent. Some days were better than others, and she thanked God every minute for Lisa. Lisa was the only thing left that kept her sa
ne (besides the Danielle Steel paperbacks, of course).

  But Lisa would be moving on soon. Probably far, far away from the small town of Brownsville, Kansas. The town didn’t have much for someone aspiring in a career, and it didn’t have much for those who weren’t either. Lisa wanted to go to college at the University of Kansas to become a psychologist. The campus was a good four or five hour drive from Brownsville. She would be gone, and Sandy would be alone. Sandy didn’t know how long it would take her daughter to get the degree, and Lisa probably wouldn’t return after she got it either, or even give a courtesy call back home to a lonesome mother. Her life would have taken flight and she would probably end up living in a big city with some guy and end up having five kids.

  “Fat chance.” Sandy laughed. Lisa wouldn’t touch a guy unless he was just like her, and none of them were. She’d probably end up being an asexual hermit –no, an asexual hermit psychologist.

  Sandy smiled. Her face was hardened and cracks of dry skin circled her cheeks. After Ray died, her hair had grayed instantly –probably within the year, but one thing she still had was her figure. It was a perfect hourglass, and she was proud of it. Not many fifty year olds could look that good. Of course, Lisa had always tried to get Sandy to color her hair, but that wasn’t going to happen. If Lisa had her way, her mother would be running around wearing black jeans and heavy metal shirts. Mrs. Kelly was proud of how she looked, and she displayed it well.

  She was wearing a pair of denim short-shorts, showing off the beautiful skin on her unblemished legs and a pink tank top that ran down her torso then stopped just above her belly button. The gray hair was pinned back into a bun, and over it there was a red bandanna. There were times when high school kids would drive by and honk at her. They probably couldn’t tell that her hair was gray due to the bandanna, but it satisfied her when it happened. Her daughter was disgusted by the fact that kids she could be dating were driving by and howling at her mother. Perhaps Lisa caught the jealousy bug. She sure as hell didn’t need to be jealous. Lisa was beautiful. She just didn’t show off her goods.

  Lisa’s body really was amazing (she had gotten this from her mother’s side, no doubt), however she would always wear baggy black jeans and a black T-shirt that usually displayed a hard rock band –they all looked like attractive thugs to Sandy. Her shoulder length hair was a natural, perfect brown, but she insisted on coloring it black.

  She was also what some would call anti-social. It bothered Sandy that all her daughter wanted to do was stay up in her room and read most of the day. Of course she had friends, but she rarely got together with any of them. Maybe once or twice a month, but no more. There was that nice boy down the street, Russ Allen, who Mrs. Kelly had been trying to get her to visit. He was a nice guy, in college and a bit older, but she liked him. He had been there almost forever. Lisa had never met him, but knew of him mostly by some of her few friends. Of course Lisa came up with excuse after excuse not to hang out with him, or any guy for that matter.

  That afternoon, when Lisa’s blue Mercury Tracer pulled into the driveway, she found her mom sitting half naked under the sun, obviously trying to attract high school boys again.

  “Trying for jail bait again, Mom?”

  Sandy grinned at her. Lisa’s work uniform was nicer than most of the clothes she wore. It required her to wear khakis and a tucked in red T-shirt with the Dairy Queen emblem on the left breast. The khakis were tight fitting, and it showed off her butt really well. Lisa had a cute butt.

  “You look better in that uniform than you do in your normal clothes,” Sandy said. “You should try showing off your body a little bit. Might get more attention from the boys, honey.”

  “I’m not looking for attention from the boys, Mom. I don’t need an eighteen year old to satisfy my sexual discomfort and loneliness. Just because you experience that need doesn’t always mean it was passed on to your lovely daughter.”

  “There you go again. Look at you! You’re beautiful! I’m just afraid you’re going to turn into an asexual hermit.”

  “My own mother is trying to get me to have sex.” Lisa sighed.

  “No, not that. I just don’t want you to be alone, dear.”

  Lisa was about to spout out a string of cuss words when the rumble of a Corvette approached. It was Justin Maddox –the quarterback of the Brownsville Demons, who haven’t won a single game in eight years. He blared on his horn and howled at them as he drove by. Lisa figured he was either stoned, drunk or both –probably both. She hated the kid and was disgusted when her mother smiled about it.

  “Lighten up, Lisa. He’s cute. Maybe you–”

  “No!”

  She walked away toward the house with an angry smile on her face.

  A few minutes after Lisa had gone inside a group of police cars sped by, followed by both of the town’s fire engines. The sirens stayed within hearing range for almost a full minute and then slowly faded away.

  Oh Lordy Lordly Lordy, Sandy thought. Something’s gone bad in Brownsville.

  * * * * *

  That goddamn woman would sleep with a sixteen year old and end up in prison. It wouldn’t really matter; she’d still be laughing about it even in an orange jumpsuit. Being the Mrs. Robinson of the town was a joke to begin with, but damn, she was taking it too far. Her mother smiled and waved at them as they drove by. God knew what she was thinking behind that smile. Soon she would be a registered sex offender and barred to the house with an electric bracelet around her ankle.

  What the hell is wrong with her? She’s old enough to be their goddamn grandmother.

  Lisa took a deep breath and stopped shaking. Freak outs were normal before the episodes. She had eaten a ham sandwich along with some potato chips for lunch.

  Don’t wanna get too fat, Lisa! Stop eating those chips. You’re just jealous because your mother looks better than you!

  “Oh, God,” Lisa muttered. “I’m fine.”

  But she wasn’t. She was wrong throwing up after each and every time she ate. She was wrong trying to look as good as her mother. She was wrong, period.

  I look fine. It’s just a goddamn delusion.

  Her problem began about two years before in a high school bathroom. She heard Jessica Welch throwing up in the stall next to her. While they were washing their hands and touching up their faces with makeup, Jessica explained that she was trying to lose weight for cheerleading. Later that day, Lisa tried it, and she told herself she would quit after a few pounds or so. At first it was controlled, and she was eating right and only throwing up when she ate unhealthy foods. But about six months ago it felt awkward to have food in her stomach all together, and she couldn’t stop.

  It wasn’t just involuntary, though. It was more like a bad habit that she couldn’t ditch, like drinking or smoking. She could probably quit if she really put an effort toward it.

  “I’ll do it, just this time, but this is it,” she whispered and walked upstairs to the bathroom.

  The blue coloring was always enough to make her want to puke, even without eating. The toilet was blue; the sink was blue, and even the shower tiles. Back in the old days she had to stick a finger down her throat to get it going, but now all she had to do was walk into the room. Lisa didn’t necessarily hate the color; it just seemed to resonate heavily. It felt like the color crawled inside of her eye sockets and juggled her brain until she felt nauseous. If there was food in her stomach then puking was necessary, but if there wasn’t, she would just get a really bad headache.

  Still in her Dairy Queen uniform, she knelt over the toilet. She coughed a few times, and the yellowish red liquid heaved from the bottom of her stomach and traveled up her esophagus. Some of it went further up and stung the backs of her eyes, and a little came out of her nose too. She choked and let out what she could, then stopped to let the vomit drain from the passages in the back of her face. Her eyes and nostrils stung as the acid lingered on the sensitive flesh. It happened every time. She hadn’t gotten used to it and probably neve
r would. She leaned over again and gagged until her stomach was empty. After wiping her mouth and the rim of the toilet bowl, Lisa stood up and flushed the toilet.

  I need to stop doing this, she thought. This is the last time.

  She stripped down and took a quick shower, then changed into her black attire –a Rolling Stones T-shirt and some baggy black jeans she had bought at the mall for a hundred wasted dollars. A copy of Stephen King’s ‘Salems’s Lot was waiting for her in her room, and she would spend the next two hours with it.

  * * * * *

  Damn, Lisa looks hot when she isn’t trying to dress like a witch, Justin thought. Her mom looks pretty damn good too.

  He smiled to himself. There wasn’t anything better than cruising in a Corvette at the beginning of summer. The sun was out, and Justin admired the way the light bounced off the shiny black hood. His dad bought him the car for graduation that year, and although it wasn’t brand new, Justin accepted it. It was only about two years old anyway, and it looked really nice. The seats were leather, the rims were a perfect chrome, and it moved faster than anything he had ever driven before.

  There was only one thing that could make cruising in the sun better. He opened the glove box and found a partially smoked joint. He smoked a little at a graduation party the other night, but the stuff was really potent, and he had had a really good high, so he decided to save some for later. It took him a few attempts to light it due to the wind blowing in his face, but he got it nevertheless.

  Good times, he thought. Good times. With nowhere in particular to go he floored it. The engine growled and the Corvette took off over the pavement. He took a long drawn out puff and quickly blew it out when he heard the sirens coming from behind him.

  Without thinking, he pitched the weed over the side and slammed on his breaks to come to a stop. Whatever the cop was after, it was speeding like hell. He had never seen a cop go that fast in this town. He hoped that it would pass him by without stopping.