Unhappy Endings

by Chris Philbrook

  Wandering the countryside, scavenging what food and supplies they could. Martin killing the dead they ran across. He called them abominations. They occasionally crossed paths with other survivors but they were either mad and useless or predatory fiends as void of empathy as the zombies.

  Walking through a small village and seeing a mountain of burned bodies in an empty lot. A single arm sticking out, fingers clawing the air.

  Zombies pulling at a chain link fence crowned with barbed wire. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida booming from loudspeakers. Crazy-looking men behind the fence laughing and shooting the zombies.

  Martin had done all the killing and most of the scavenging. Jesse had felt useless. He'd never known any hardship. Didn't have any survival skills. He was something less than a man. He could see that in his uncle Martin's eyes.

  Jesse's visions slowed. Adrian Ring floated in front of him and disappeared.

  The last time Jesse had seen Adrian was in the summer between fourth and fifth grades. Jesse's father had announced they were moving to Ohio where he'd gotten a job as a factory foreman. Jesse and his mother had went to K-Mart for moving supplies. They'd been in the checkout lane when Jesse spied Adrian walking through the doors with his mother and little sister. Adrian hadn't seen him and kept on walking. Jesse wondered what Adrian looked like now, if he was still alive.

  "He killed them you know."

  The hairs on Jesse's nape stood up. Something was in the room with him.

  "He loved and hated your mother for what she did. Why do you think he followed her to Ohio?"

  Jesse played the flashlight around the room. Nothing.

  "Your uncle is a murderer. He used the chaos to hide his crime."

  A vision formed in front of Jesse's eyes. His uncle was standing over his parents holding a bloody knife. The same knife Jesse carried in his duffle bag. The one Martin insisted that Jesse carry.

  "Why do you think he never wanted to look for them?"

  Jesse hated the nightmares. He'd been having strange visions ever since the apocalypse. He sensed uncle Martin was having them too but they hadn't discussed it. Neither wanted to admit they were probably crazy.

  "He's not your uncle."

  Jesse closed his eyes tightly. A white room appeared in the distance. Then it winked out.

  "Adrian." whispered Jesse.

  "Forget Adrian! He's rotting in the ground!"

  A cold vise squeezed Jesse's heart and he gasped for breath.

  "Your father just died!"

  Thump!

  The sound had come from the other bedroom. Something was pounding on the door.

  "Uncle Martin?" called Jesse. He was fully awake now and standing in front of Martin's bedroom door. The visions had receded.

  Thump! Scratch! The door rattled in its frame.

  Jesse knew his uncle must have died. His reanimated corpse was trying to force its way through the door. Trying to get at him. Trying to eat him. Jesse retreated to his bedroom and closed the door. He was holding Martin's knife in his hand.

  Maddie coalesced in front of Jesse. "Come with me." she said with a smile.

  Something whispered in the darkness, too faint for Jesse to hear. "There is no solace in death."

  Martin woke up with a start. Sunlight poked through the shutters that blocked the window. He felt his forehead, finding it cool to the touch. His fever had broken in the night and his skull no longer throbbed. He was still alive. Martin coughed and a clotted piece of sputum landed on his shirt. He probed it with a finger. It was dry and sticky, a sign that his lungs were clearing up.

  Martin recalled the night. The visions had come again in his sleep. The white room with three indistinct faces beckoning to him. A mohawked man Martin didn't know was killing zombies. Then Jesse screamed. A murder of crows was lifting him into a darkening sky.

  Martin sat up. "Jesse!" he screamed. "Answer me!"

  All of a sudden Martin was freezing. He felt light-headed. Something awful had happened. He needed to find Jesse. He needed to know it had all been a bad dream. Martin swung his feet over the edge of the bed. His stomach was knotted in a tight ball. "Jesse!" he called again.

  There was no reply save for a faint tittering from the eaves. Scurrying mice or perhaps the whispers of baleful ghosts? Martin didn't care for the sound either way. He closed his eyes and focused on the white room. When he opened his eyes the black thoughts had retreated. Feeling a little better, Martin put his shoes on, picked up his lead pipe and went looking for his nephew.

  Martin's first stop was Jesse's bedroom. He rapped on the door with his pipe. "Jesse? You in there? Come on buddy, talk to me!"

  Martin turned the knob and found it unlocked. The door shrieked in protest as he pushed it open. Outside a crow cackled in anticipation. Darkness whirled around Martin's soul, plucking at it with talons. Then it was ripped away entirely.

  Jesse was standing in the middle of the room in a pool of blood, bathed in sunlight that streamed through the window. Flies and dust motes danced around him in the light. The shutters had been opened and were hanging limp with age from the window frame. Perhaps Jesse had wanted to see one last sunrise before he did it?

  Jesse was dead. He had slit his wrists with Martin's knife and still clutched it in one red-speckled hand tinged blue in death.

  The zombie that had been Jesse Garcia lifted its head and looked at Martin with hollow eyes. It clacked its teeth and took a step forward, its shoes sticking in the drying blood. It offered the knife to Martin and moaned.

  Something whispered in Martin's ear. "Join us."

  "You bastards!" cried Martin. "It was me you wanted! Why didn't you just take me?"

  Martin swung the pipe and hit his dead nephew in the side of his head. Bone crunched and an eye squirted out of its socket and plopped on the floor. The thing that had been Jesse continued its advance, comically slipping when it stepped on the eye. Martin held the pipe over his head and brought it down squarely on the zombie's skull, splitting it open with a dull crack. The zombie dropped the knife and keeled over, thudding on the floor. It twitched once and was still. Martin hit it again just to be sure.

  The zombie was officially dead. Jesse was dead, gone forever.

  Martin held the pipe up in front of his face and looked at it in disgust. Pieces of brain were clinging to it like fat slugs. He tossed the pipe away, the clatter of its landing not even registering. He no longer wanted it. He would have to find another weapon to kill the dead.

  A trail of blood led from the center of the room to a wall. On the wall, in his own blood, Jesse had written the name "Adrian" and the word "east." Martin studied the words and nodded. He understood what they meant and what he had to do. Now it was time to go and do it. But first he had to take care of Jesse.

  Martin covered the corpse of his nephew with the plastic sheeting from his bed but the flies just crawled under it. He would have to do something about that. He wouldn't leave Jesse for the bugs.

  The smoke rising from the farmhouse hung over the sun like a shroud of gauze. Martin sat on the stone wall and watched Jesse's funeral pyre burn. He picked at the vines that ensnared the stones. Death no longer had any appeal for him. He was sick of death.

  Perched on the fence on the other side of the yard was a crow, likely the one from the night before. It cawed angrily and fluttered off into the sky, becoming one with the smoke.

  Martin drank long from his canteen. He had a quite a haul in front of him, heading far to the east as he was. Still, he stayed put and watched for a time as a blanket of somber clouds lumbered after the sun like a fleet of warships heavy with cannon. Martin half expected them to disgorge a rain of pestilence to bar his path. He watched the tall grass in the untended yard sway to the rhythm of the fire like a sea of penitents. He watched until the farmhouse was nothing more than a heap of embers glowing dull orange. He knew then that it was time to go.

  Jesse's duffle bag and crowbar lay beside Martin. He stood up and ran through the contents of the bag in his
head. Flashlight, knife, dirty clothes, comic books, first aid kit, the two granola bars, matches and an empty tin of lighter fluid. Tucked away in a side pocket was a wrinkled photograph of Jesse and his parents that Martin had almost thrown into the fire. There was also a can of lima beans he'd found in the kitchen. It wasn't much to travel with but at least the beans would make a good lunch.

  A Girl Alone

  Lee Smallwood

  Kim woke to the sound of an axe hitting timber... It was the same sound she heard every day. Her Father George was outside splitting logs again, it had become an obsession.

  “We'll need more wood for the winter. Remember how cold it was last year?” was all he kept saying every time Kim asked him to stop.

  She worried about her Dad since her Mom had taken ill early winter. Her death had been hard on both of them but her Father had taken it the worse. He feared that his daughter would be left alone out here in the wilderness and wanted to make sure she was ready if he passed away. George had a heart condition that the doctors said was brought on by being overweight and unfit. That wasn’t a problem anymore. His frame was now that of a much younger man and his body carried almost no fat as he swung the axe down again. However the heart condition would not repair itself, it was permanent and that was what scared him the most.

  Kim dropped into her sweats and walked towards the door of her room. She paused to remove the thick timber locking bar from the hangers mounted on the frame before stepping out into the day. Squinting against the strong northern sun she waved as her Fathers eyes came round to meet hers. He nodded a good morning before going back to his work. Time was running out was the only thought running through his head.

  “Want me to check the traps?” Kim asked as she pulled on her boots that had been sitting on the covered deck of the cabin.

  “Done it. You can start preparing for jerky if you want,” George said as he swung the axe again.

  “Do we need more? We have sacks of the stuff,” Kim said trying to cover the fact that she hated the taste.

  “We can never have too much. You never know what’s around the corner," George said pausing a few seconds to check the blisters on his hands. He would stop just before the skin broke to avoid an infection if possible. “Besides the meat will only go to waste if we don't dry it.”

  “Ok.,“ Kim said smiling. It would stop her getting bored anyway.

  There wasn't much else to do out here in the woods, there never had been. She had been coming up here with her Mom and Dad for years as a child and it was the perfect place to run when the dead came calling. They had been on a visit to the ski resort to stock up on ammunition and fishing supplies for her Father while her and her Mom had stocked up on white wine and glossy trash magazines filled with celeb gossip along with before and after surgery photos. Her mother Kerri was not one for the outdoor life but she loved her husband so would spend the days lounging by the lake while George fished. The cabin itself was miles from the nearest hard road, the only way to access was via a dirt track that ran for miles through the trees of the forest that surrounded the small town high up in the hills. The family had inherited the cabin and the surrounding acres of woodland from George's Father who had been a forest guide most of his life. In winter it was different, deep snow and traitorous weather meant they only had access during the summer this fact had saved their lives... Her mother had passed away during the winter after falling through the ice on the lake during an ill judged fishing trip and developing pneumonia. Her father still blamed himself.

  As George was placing the last of their supplies into the back of the old blazer he kept at a friend's house in the town he heard the first of the gun shots. He contemplated grabbing his rifle from the back of the truck and heading over to lend a hand only to lock eyes with his beloved Kerri. She knew him well and knew he wanted to do the right thing. But she had also seen the news that day and knew they needed to get out of there. There were screams coming from down the street now as George stood thinking. By the door to the store he had been visiting his whole life were two large mesh bins filled with hiking meals, the type you just added water to. Two-for-one deal of the day, the label read. He took a breath and opened the back of the truck, Kerri's head dropped as she thought he was reaching for his rifle case. He wasn’t.

  The next sound she heard was the sound of dried food packets cascading into the rear of the truck followed by anything else that was placed by the door to the store. The trunk slammed shut and George climbed in. A flurry of gravel announced their departure as totally out of character George gunned the motor and fled the scene of his first-ever theft.

  As they drove away George looked in his mirror to see the shop's owner standing on the steps of the shop. He was smiling and his hand was raised in a friendly wave. Stanley the owner of the store was in his seventies and had known George his whole life. He was pleased George had put family first. Stanley wouldn't leave, though he would have given George more if he'd asked.

  The town had been out of bounds since that day, at first it was the dead that kept watch over the shops and taverns, now it was the living.. George had gone into town twice since that day in June, twice he had returned saddened by what he saw. Militia now ran the town and anyone not with them were now used for sex or dead. George wouldn't let that happen to his eighteen year old daughter. He had spent the time since the dead rose teaching Kim everything he had learned about the land, she was a fast learner and good at almost everything. Now here she was, skinning and removing meat from carcasses that her father had provided.

  Kim was just getting to the end when she noticed the sound of wood being split had stopped. She was pleased because it meant her ever working Father could rest for a while. She wiped the blood and gore from her hands before walking back towards the cabin from the lean too they used to prepare the meat. She stopped a few meters short when she saw the axe lying on the ground with a timber block still wedge onto the blade. It was their only axe and her father wouldn’t have left it that way. After it was used it was always cleaned and sharpened before being returned to its resting place inside the cabin. Her eyes scanned around but she couldn't see him anywhere.

  “Dad,” she shouted but got no reply. She was worried now as she had left the safety of her room without the old revolver her father had given her soon after they had arrived. She looked around again before heading for her room, she figured he'd either gone after something with his rifle or been taken by someone who had sneaked up to the place. She stepped into the dark cabin and headed straight for her room. The door was open as she reached it and standing in the doorway was her father. She stopped and stood staring at his back before speaking. ”Are you ok..?”

  Her father's head had been leaning slightly to the left twitched and his body turned. Her heart sank as the death in his eyes came into view. The white eyes, devoid of life gazed upon her as she stood frozen to the spot.

  As George took his first step towards her she turned and ran. Getting out into the bright light was the first stage of her survival. The second meant grabbing the once-cherished axe and splitting the timber from its blade. It took her two tries to clear the blade and as she raised it for the last time, her father stepped into range.

  “Ok Dad... just like you told me…” Kim said with determined tears streaming down her cheeks. “Single blow to the head.”

  As she said the words her father's now dead but animated body crumpled and fell to the floor.

  She stood confused as the body lay before her. How did this happen, why did this happen. She stood motionless holding the axe high as her arms filled with pain. Was it a trick, had she missed the sound of a shot? Was it safe for her to say goodbye...

  Eventually her strength waned and the axe slid from her grasp falling noisily to the ground. The body of her father didn't move at all. She slumped to her knees and sobbed for over an hour before gritting her teeth and taking deep breaths through her nose. They had talked about this. Dad knew it would happen someday and he got y
ou ready for it. Now it's up to you. She told herself.

  Later Kim spent some time piling rocks on top of the grave she had laid her father to rest in. it was next to her mother's grave... She was pleased they were now together as she wrote the date on his head stone. March 3rd... She was glad she hadn't had to finish him.

  She couldn't stay up in the mountains alone. All her life she had been a social animal and she craved other people's company. What she didn't want was to go into town. Her and her father had spent many an evening going through plans to get back to Westfield using old trails and logging tracks that ran south, now she would be taking them alone. She started out by packing light, if it didn't protect her or provide food it would be left behind. Her father's clothing was too big for her but it made her look more like a man from a distance and a final sacrifice of her hair completed the look she was after. Sitting at the mirror where her mother had spent hours combing her long golden locks Kim took the scissors from the kitchen and removed her own. Her fingers now ran through the cropped golden hair and she smiled to herself. Picking up her backpack and her father's rifle she heaved the heavy wooden door of the cabin closed and walked to the grave of her parents. She would return one day to place better headstones she told herself. Then turning for the trees she said goodbye to the land that had saved her life.

  She placed her Father's hat on her head, and checked the guns on her hips before setting off towards the lean to. As she passed she took the reins of the old mule her father had picked up from a neighbor's cabin a few miles away. The neighbors were long dead and the mule had survived by eating the grass and weed that grew along the lake side, her father didn't say how they had died but she knew they had killed themselves shortly after the 23rd of June.

  Loaded with the dried meat she hated and the tools she would need to survive she took the first step.

  Alone now she would head south, she was going home...