by James Dean
After a quick scan of the mayhem surrounding him, Chris ran for his truck while fishing for his keys. He dodged a child reaching out while she bared her teeth and snapped her jaws at him. Chris kicked out and dodged around the little monster while a woman stumbled to her feet nearby.
Chris pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocking the door remotely as he raced to his truck. He got to the truck and vaulted into the seat. Slamming the door closed to the sound of slapping hands against the glass next to his head, he collapsed against the truck’s steering wheel, exhausted.
“Fucking zombies,” Chris whispered as he cranked the engine.
*****
Karen closed the door and turned the lock as bodies slammed against it, rattling the wood in the frame. With each additional assault against the barrier wood splintered and cracked.
Karen backed away and hurried to the window to escape the insanity, but with one look outside knew that wasn’t going to be an option. She looked around the office and realized what Chris had said. The casket room. Hide in a casket? How? They close from the outside.
Karen hurried back to the window and pulled both sashes from the drapes. She darted to the display room door and rushed inside. Pushing the sliding door across the opening, she found herself surrounded by half a dozen caskets; black, gray, bright red and two wooden models. She looked around the windowless room. She was trapped.
She hurried to the black casket and pushed the heavy cart with its heavy burden in front of the folding door. Karen used her foot to secure all four wheel locks.
The assault on the outside door exploded with a crash. A full minute passed before bodies stumbled and banged against furniture. Then came the first tentative brush against the folding door. The monsters outside started beating against the folds of plastic and fake wood panels.
Karen rushed to the red casket and used a ten-inch metal key to secure the lower half of the split top lid on the coffin. She tied the sashes in a square knot then fed the free ends through the narrow gap between the hinged side. Leaning inside, Karen slipped the metal rod behind the knot on the inside of the casket. She pulled the ends over the top of the cap panel then opened it.
She used a small stool to step up to the side of the coffin sitting on its display table. Her heart slammed against her chest as she raised her leg to climb inside. She balanced herself on the edge as she slipped her toe under the stool and kicked it across the room. She slipped over the edge and pulled both feet into the box. She slid down into the coffin and pulled the fabric valances in then reached up to grab at the silk lining to close the lid.
She pulled the sashes, and the head panel fell into place. She took a breath and the light disappeared. She heard the black casket fall over with a deafening crash.
ABOUT C. A. HOAKS
C. A. HOAKS is a Texas author of Texas-centric horror fiction, Terror in Texas, the first book in the Torn Apart series. After more than twenty years working as a contract technical writer in Houston, she’s now devoting her time to writing fiction. A lifelong fan of creative horror, C. A. Hoaks is fascinated by apocalyptic events such as the undead rising and focuses her writing on unusual characters rising to the challenge of a new and scary world.
C. A. Hoaks is an award-winning fiction writer that has been involved in local writer’s groups for over 30 years. As a Houston Writer’s League founding member, C. A. Hoaks organized the first national conference for writers. Before publishing her first novel earlier this year, she published a variety of articles and editorials in local newspapers and newsletters.
Check out http://www.charlottehoaks.com to read more about the rise of the undead in Texas. Terror in Texas, the first book in the Torn Apart series is available on Amazon. http://bit.ly/TerrorinTexas
Last Caress
Christopher T. MacDonald
"Is it that truck over there?" Kenny asked, pointing to the blue pickup truck that was embedded into the side of the building across the street from where they were resting. The driver was long gone, probably dead and more than likely still walking around.
"That would be it," Alan said enthusiastically to the young boy who sat close beside him.
"This game is so stupid," Kenny mumbled as he took a swipe at the ground in front of him.
They had taken to playing guessing games like 20 Questions and I Spy whenever they stopped to rest. Kenny used to enjoy these games when they first started them. Blurting out answers out of turn, determined to get the answers before anyone else. This was back when Greg and Gerald were still in the group. It hadn't escaped Alan's attention that Kenny's excitement for the games faded when they lost them.
They traveled the back roads because they felt they'd be safer. That's how they found the mom and pop store. And they had been right. Houses were few and far between and they maybe saw five or six abandoned cars. It had indeed been safer, and that made them complacent. Gerald had spotted the store and suggested they check it out. Laughing and joking, they marched right into the store without a care in the world.
Their laughs turned to squeals of delight as they saw the little store in the middle of nowhere was untouched. Candy bars, chips, canned food, bottled water and soda were all on display and so excited by this life-saving find they missed the telltale signs; the blood splatters on the floor, the obvious stench of decay and human waste. Their stomachs growled and their mouths watered. That was all that mattered. They scattered throughout the store, gorging themselves on stale junk food and warm, flat soda.
Alan was tearing into his second package of yellow cream-filled sponge cake when Shelly's scream shattered the silence. Dropping his snack, Alan dashed through the aisle towards the screams. Rounding the corner, heart ready to burst from his chest he saw what had once been a woman, possibly middle aged. The zombie had a death grip on Shelly's long dark hair. The same hair Alan always teased her about. He told her that one day some lucky zombie was going to get a fist full of it and make her a snack. He wished he'd never made that joke.
From out of nowhere with a roar Shelly's dad Greg hurled himself at the zombie and all three of them crashed to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs. The zombie released its grip on Shelly and turned its attention to Greg.
"Run! Get them out of here!" Greg yelled to Alan as he struggled with the zombie, It's snapping maw edging closer to Greg's exposed throat.
Alan didn't think twice. Grabbing Shelly by the hand he dragged her, kicking and screaming from her struggling father and zombie. At the end of the aisle he saw Stuart and Kenny looking on in confusion and horror.
"Go! Get the hell out of here!" Alan shouted frantically.
Before he reached them they were out the door and halfway down the road. They probably didn't hear Greg's screams as he lost his struggle with the zombie. Alan could imagine the victorious undead sinking its rotten teeth into Greg's tender flesh, tearing and chewing until the last spark of life escaped him. Moments later he would rise as yet another soldier in the Master's Unholy Army of The Dead.
Just as Alan and the screaming teen exited the country store of horror, he saw Gerald. He was laid out, another zombie hunched over him, pulling out handful after handful of slick, bloody guts and shoving them into its ravenous mouth with wet squelching sounds. It must have happened during the commotion because Alan hadn't even heard Gerald's cries. In the end it didn't matter; just another soldier added to the army.
Still struggling, Shelly almost escaped Alan's grasp, calling and crying for her fallen father. Tired of her fighting him he scooped her up in his arms and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She screamed and pounded on his back but as they got farther from the store she ceased her struggles and was reduced to hoarse sobs. Alan genuinely felt for her. Greg had been a decent man, Gerald too. In another time and another life he felt he could have easily called them friends. For the first time since the world ended he felt actual grief for the death of a human being.
Alan snapped back to the present from Stuart's complaint.<
br />
"Then why don't you shut up and do something useful like finding some food," he growled from the sidewalk bench that he was stretched out on. His hands were tucked behind his head and his trucker cap sat over his face, blocking out the sun.
Alan scowled in Stuart's direction. Since the deaths of Gerald and Greg his laziness and attitude had gotten worse. Before when he refused to pull his weight Alan, Greg and Gerald were able to gang up on him and force him to do what needed to be done. Now that Alan was the only man left in the group the threat of numbers no longer concerned Stuart. All Stuart did now was sleep, complain, and eat what little food they had. Alan knew Stuart had to go, but it was a matter of waiting for the right time and opportunity. He doubted anyone would be too upset if Stuart met with an 'unfortunate accident.'
"Nothing, picked clean." Shelly sighed as she exited the corner store they were camped out in front of.
"Well did you look hard enough? There has to be something, we haven't eaten in days," Stuart shot back angrily as he sat up on the bench.
"No, Stuart. I just spent the last twenty minutes in there with my thumb up my ass," she shot back at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
They all had a short fuse lately. The lack of food being the main contributor but also the general disdain in the group. To be exact, it was the group's disdain for Stuart and his for them.
"It's all that damn President's fault I tell you. He screwed our economy and now in this wasteland, decent Americans who were born and raised in this great country can't even find enough food to survive," Stuart complained, voice raised and finger pointed right at the group as if to accuse them that it was their fault that the President had been elected.
They all rolled their eyes and sighed. Everything was the president's fault where Stuart was concerned. The president was to blame for the zombies, for their lack of food and supplies. Hell, the President was even responsible for Stuart's hemorrhoids.
Shelly opened her mouth, ready to let loose on Stuart about his constant complaining but no one ever got to hear what she had to say. Kenny's arm shot up, finger shaking and pointing to across the street and in a terrified, shaky voice he cried out, "Zombies!"
There were dozens of undead shambling around the corners of the building across the street, probably drawn to them by Stuart's anti-President rant. Alan scanned the area looking for an escape route. Forward was obviously no good and glancing back he saw more undead stumbling in their direction. Just when he thought this was the end and was ready to curse Adrian and his very existence he saw the fire escape ladder on the building between the two zombie groups. He scanned the roof tops and made a quick assessment. It was crazy but it just might work.
"The fire escape. If we take it up to the roof, we can escape them. The roofs are close enough together that we should be able to jump from roof to roof and then we can climb down from another building while they're hanging around the one we went up," Alan explained.
"That's a fucking awful idea," Stuart said, his voice shaking in fear.
"Do you have a better one?" Alan asked, annoyed.
No one said anything. Realizing it was their only plan they sprang into action. Sprinting, they made it to the fire escape ladder as the undead surrounded them. Hands reached out hungrily, grabbing for something to latch on to. The monster's teeth snapped together so savagely that Alan was sure some of them must have broken. Shelly went up first to clear the way. Kenny was second up because Kenny was still a kid and needed protection. Alan went third with Stuart bringing up the rear, complaining all the while.
Alan was half way up the ladder when he paused for a moment to take in the situation. The zombies were crowded around the bottom of the fire escape reaching up for a meal. Shelly and Kenny had made it to the top of the roof and were nowhere to be seen. It was just Alan and Stuart climbing. Stuart was a few rungs below Alan on the ladder, impatient to get up to safety.
"Quit fucking around and get your ass in gear, man," Stuart swore from below Alan.
Alan leaned over to face Stuart. His eyes narrowed, and he regarded Stuart in the way a predator might regard its prey.
"You know what Stuart? I never liked you," Alan said quietly, his expression turning dark and sinister.
Stuart's eyes widened in shock and fright as Alan raised his foot and brought it down squarely into his face. To Alan it played out in slow motion. Stuart lost his grip on the ladder rung and seemed to float out from the safety of the fire escape. He hung there, suspended in mid air before he started his slow descent towards the zombie filled sidewalk below, his arms flailing wildly as they searched for something--anything--to grab onto. After what seemed like minutes, Stuart landed in the throng of ravenous undead. Time seemed to move normally as Stuarts screams of terror registered in Alan's ears. He watched as the undead tore at Stuart, ripping chunks of flesh and handfuls of organs from his twisted and broken body. There were so many dead down there that Alan was sure there wouldn't be enough left of Stuart for him to reanimate. If there was anyone who didn't deserve to be in the Master's army it was him.
Alan started to make his way back up the ladder but stopped. He noticed the zombies had ceased their feeding and regarded him. The gesture made Alan feel a bit excited and uneasy at the same time. He gave the horde below a nervous salute and was rewarded by a head nod from all of them in unison. Turning from the building they shuffled off while Alan continued his ascent.
Shelly and Kenny were waiting for Alan as he pulled himself up over the side of the building, tired and panting.
"What happened to Stuart?" Kenny asked after it was apparent that he wasn't with them anymore.
"He fell," is all Alan said as he walked past the woman and boy towards the other side of the building. Neither of them questioned him.
The plan worked. Whether it was because it was a good one or because the zombies let them go Alan wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that he would live another day and that his Master still had a vested interest in his survival. They cleared four roof tops before they descended another fire escape and fled the small downtown area they had been exploring. The mood of the trio had improved with Stuart's death and just like Alan thought, no one was particularly upset over his passing. He had been a cancer to the group and Alan had taken great pleasure in removing him.
They exhausted what little food and water they had a few days after escaping that small downtown area. Every car, house and building they checked afterwards was the same, picked clean and void of food and water. The only thing these places had were zombies which they dealt with in practiced fashion or fled when the numbers were too large to deal with. Still they continued to soldier on, hoping against all hope that maybe the next place would offer salvation only to be denied every time. By the fifth day of no food or water Alan began to worry. He had done his homework in the past and knew that a person doing very little physical activity could survive over a month without food and around ten days without water. They were burning calories every day and an early fall heat wave was making them sweat buckets of essential fluids. By day eight they were no better than zombies themselves, shuffling on lethargic legs, the only thing keeping them going was sheer stubbornness and a will to survive.
On day eleven Alan found himself on a sofa with Shelly and Kenny snuggled up against him, his arms wrapped around their shoulders holding them tight. They had entered the house and used the last of their energy to search it for food and water. Just like all the others before it was bare. Not a word was spoken between the three of them, they knew this was their last chance for survival and that they were as good as dead. Alan shuffled into the living room and collapsed into the couch with Shelly and Kenny following suit. Over the course of the past months, they had grown to become a family and Alan felt that if he was to die here and now, he couldn't think of anyone better to spend his final moments with. Except maybe his sister.
It could have been hours or maybe even seconds, he wasn't sure, but his eyes began to grow heavy and he could
n't keep them open any longer. He thought about his sister Annabeth, how she was still out there somewhere and that he would never find her. He hoped she was safe, He thought about the promise the Devil had made to him and how he wasn't surprised that he didn't keep up his end of the deal. He thought he heard someone call his name, but it was so far away and so distant that he wasn't sure if it was real or not. Forcing his eyes open one more time he saw the outline of humanoid forms through unfocused eyes. He hoped they were zombies sent to end his suffering.
"Beth," he whispered hoarsely. With his sister's name on his lips he let his eyes close one last time, ready to accept his fate.
*****
Alan's eyes fluttered open. His whole body ached and he lacked the energy to move. As his eyes began to focus he realized he was resting on a bed in some strange bedroom. A girl's bedroom he guessed based off the boy band posters on the walls and the stuffed animals lovingly set on every available surface. Slowly he remembered the couch and Kenny and Shelly. He remembered the figures approaching and how he thought they were the undead, there to claim him for the Master and how he was more than ready for the sweet embrace of oblivion and the release from this messed up world. Nothing about his current situation made any sense and he needed answers. Digging deep he managed to find the will to pull himself up to a sitting position in the bed. The effort of that simple action caused him to groan in pain.
Sitting there covered in a pink princess comforter, he attempted to summon the energy to make it off the bed when he heard the bedroom door open and familiar voice speak out to him.
"Jesus Christ, Alan, are you trying to kill yourself?"
Alan's head turned towards the voice so hard he thought he might have given himself whiplash. The time since the world ended had not been kind to her, but he still thought she was as beautiful as ever. She was a small girl to begin with and she looked like she had dropped a lot of weight, her t-shirt and jeans hanging off her loosely. Her long, shiny hair was now cut brutally short and looked matted and greasy, li unwashed for months. This made Alan self conscious of his own appearance and he feebly ran his hand through his own gross and unkempt air.
