First Time Dead 1

by Chantal Boudreau

  “Please, Carly, just do what I’m telling you. Call me when you get home. I love you.”

  “Alright, I’ll call you. You better have something to tell me. I love you, too.”

  As I hung up, I really thought about all this. I mean, Brian knows his stuff when it comes to horror, but this can’t be happening like he said. It’s just a crazy riot that got way out of control. It has to be, because there are no such things as zombies. Period. People do not come back from the dead with a desire for brains. It’s ridiculous. I can’t believe I actually thought that was a realistic scenario. I mean, Brian is kinda horror obsessed, he actually brought me a hockey mask he had made himself once, so it’s no wonder he is gonna think this way. I started feeling a little better and slowed down. I began talking out loud about it so I could actually hear the nonsense coming out if my mouth.

  “So, a bunch of people start rioting in L.A., and all of a sudden it’s a zombie apocalypse, right? Ha-ha, Buck, you got me on this one. He’s probably sitting at home drinking his home-brewed beer right now, telling Sarah how he scared me so bad, I closed the shop and took off home. Oh boy, he is gonna pay for thi—”

  I never even saw him coming.

  He must have been walking right for me from across the street and dove on me from about three feet away. From what I could see, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cutoff jean shorts. He grabbed me and started to try and drag me to the ground. Luckily I had about fifty pounds on the guy, so I was able to shake him off my arm, but as I did it, I must have stepped on a sprinkler head and went down on one knee. A searing pain shot up my leg, and as I leaned down to push myself back up, he threw all of his weight onto my back. I went sprawling face down onto the sidewalk and with his two hundred-plus pounds on top of me. All of the air went out of my lungs, and I started seeing grey pinwheels flash before my eyes. Right at that moment, Mister Hawaii put the Vulcan Nerve Pinch on my shoulder and snapped me out of my daze. I rolled over, and as he lunged to be on top of me, I flipped him over my head and pushed my feet into his belly with all my strength. When he landed, I heard a loud crack and a grunt.

  I rolled over to my knees and pushed myself up, ready to square off with the guy. He was still lying face down on the sidewalk, flopping and flailing his arms and legs like a turtle that got flipped upside down. I decided to try and get a better look. I got closer and realized that I had cracked his skull open. There was no blood, but there was quite a bit of grey matter and chunks of something lying around his head.

  That’s when I saw the bite marks on his face.

  Instantly I flashed back to poor Erin in the third floor storage saying “A big piece of skin was missing from her cheek…she was eating him…she was taking bites of his face.”

  I took off in a full sprint. That was the moment I knew, just like Brian had said, the world as I knew it would never be the same.

  When I arrived at home, my mind was racing. The whole way over, I was considering the facts: the news had been reporting that people are attacking others, some people are actually biting—and I just got attacked by a guy who had clearly been bitten. As I unlocked my front door, I had just enough time to think, at least she locked the door, when Carly, wild-eyed and looking like a crazy lady, came running towards me with a kitchen knife in her hand.

  “You motherfuc—” as she realized it was me, the horrible look in her eyes faded to a very sad and scared expression.

  “Oh, baby…”

  As she fell into my arms sobbing, she dropped the knife and gripped me like she was drowning.

  “Please tell me…what’s going on…I turned on the news….oh God…baby…it’s everywhere...”

  The last line she spoke grabbed me by the balls. It’s everywhere...

  I tried to calm her down and move ourselves towards the living room where I could hear the newscaster blabbing about some nationwide epidemic. Holding her in my arms, we watched.

  “….still does not know the cause of the hysteria, but recommends that people stay in their homes and do not try to leave the city. The CDC also says that the virus is transmitted through saliva. They are recom-mending that everyone put on heavy clothing and keep the doors locked. Once again, the Center for Disease Control has released a statement asking people to remain calm and remain in their homes.”

  On the screen, they were showing some of the footage I’d already seen as well as some new footage. The new shots are showing a line of police, dressed in riot gear, marching down a street in San Francisco. There were hundreds of people stumbling towards them—not slowing at all—as the officers start shooting. Some of the people getting shot fall, but the majority just keep coming forward, and finally overrun the police. Then…they start biting them.

  “Baby, what’s happening? They are saying that groups of people are attacking everybody. Is that true?”

  I was still breathing heavy, so I sat down hard on the couch. I looked at her with the look I give her when she knows I am not lying.

  “Zombies…That’s what Buck says. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think he’s right.”

  I was trying to get my head around this when I started thinking about what I heard the newscaster say before we left the coffee shop. I don’t know why, at the time, I told her what they said. I’m sure the news had said it over and over again. I guess I really wanted her to get it into her head. Another cosmic joke.

  After watching the news for however long she had been watching, and my “serious” look, she understood.

  She took a deep breath and spoke with more determination then I have ever heard from her.

  “So what do we do, Darren?”

  “Well, Buck said to call him,” I looked at my watch, “right about now. Since he’s the expert, I guess we should see what his plan is. While I call him, why don’t you start getting some stuff together?”

  She looked at me and nodded her head once. It made me grin. She is damn tough. But really soft, too.

  I pulled out the piece of paper Buck had given me and laughed when I saw that under his number he wrote, Professional Zombie Hunter .

  As I dialed the number, I stopped in mid-dial. Something on the news grabbed my attention.

  “…suggests finding groups of people in your immediate area and staying together. You should gather as many supplies as possible and find a safe place to hide. Your local law enforcement will be trying to control the situation...”

  Buck was right.

  I finished dialing as Carly came back into the room. My love for her was so freaking strong I just wanted to grab her and hug her. It actually took all my willpower to stay where I was. She had two bags of stuff and had changed into an old pair of Doc Martins she had not worn for years and a pair of sunglasses. She reminded me of Sarah Connor from Terminator 2. Right as I started laughing, someone answered the phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “Buck, it’s Darren. What’s up?”

  “Getting ready to head out. A bunch of my buddies are already on the roof of the high school. They said it’s pretty damn secure and they’re already setting up traps for the zombies. You guys are welcome to come here, just bring your own supplies. And do not get bit!”

  At that moment, my body finally accepted all the events that were transpiring. I started shaking and had to sit down.

  “Yeah, Brian, that sounds like a plan. We’ll see you there”

  “Darren, take care. And remember; aim for the head.”

  As I hung up, Carly, who had been watching me the whole time, came over and put her hand on my arm. She had such a warm gentle touch.

  “Well, what did he say?”

  As I ran down to her what he said, I started realizing how hungry I was. I hadn’t had any breakfast. I usually ate at work, but because of the circumstances, I didn’t get a chance to.

  “I need to eat. I’m starving,” I stated after I told her what Buck had said.

  I got up and immediately got light-headed and lost my balance. Luckily, I was able to steady myse
lf and regain my composure. Carly came over and helped me get into the kitchen where I sat at the table.

  Carly, ever the caring, tasty, and wonderful wife, said in a very mother like voice, “Just sit here, I’ll make a sandwich for you. When did he say we can go there?”

  “I guess as soon as possible. He said they were just leaving. He said we need to bring our own supp…ah!”

  Before I had a chance to finish, I was racked with the most intense stomach cramp I have ever felt. It felt like a sword had just been rammed into my gut. Carly came running over and put her hand on my head.

  “Oh my God, you’re burning up. Come lay on the couch.”

  As she helped me into the living room, she said I was soaking wet in sweat. I was shocked, I was actually freezing.

  “I must have been getting sick, and the shock of all this has just kept me busy. I am so cold, baby. Can you turn on the furnace and get me a blanket?”

  As she sat me down on the couch, she said to take off my shirt and she would get me another. As I started taking off my shirt I realized my shoulder and my knee hurt pretty bad. She reached down and turned on the floor furnace, and helped me remove my shirt. Then she gasped.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” I asked.

  “N—nothing, sweetie, I was just…uh…I saw something on the news that scared me. Let me get you a blanket. Why don’t you lay by the furnace?”

  I thought that was a great idea, I was shivering, especially since I now had no shirt on. As I lay down next to the furnace, I started thinking about how hungry I was. God, I just wanted a sandwich or a steak or something meaty. My stomach felt so empty. I was thrilled when Carly came walking back in with a blanket and a shirt. She looked delicious.

  She leaned down to put the blanket over me and I grabbed her by the wrist. She took a sharp breath and looked at me very strangely. I started to pull her close; then it happened…she grabbed my other wrist and put something on it. Then she pushed my hand towards the furnace. I heard a clicking sound, and when she let go I tried to pull my hand away. It wouldn’t move. I looked down at my hand and was shocked to see that she had handcuffed me to the furnace. I felt a rage I had never felt before. I did the only thing I could do. I screamed.

  “Let me out of this, you bitch! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want me to get killed? Do you want me to kill you? Huh? Do you want me to smash your head in? I’ll crack your skull open and scoop out your brains and eat it like ice cream! Is that what you want! Baby, you don’t really want to leave me like this, do you? Please, I’m sorry. I love you. Just let me get a bite of you to eat and I’ll be okay. I just need a sandwich.”

  During my tirade she was getting all of the supplies together without looking at me, and I could tell she was crying. As she set all the stuff by the door, she turned around and looked at me. She had a red marker in her hand.

  “Baby, you’ve been bit. On your shoulder.”

  I thought of Mister Hawaii and his Vulcan Nerve Pinch. He didn’t pinch me. I reached around and felt the spot. When I pulled my hand away, it was bloody. Shit.

  At that moment I remembered what the newscaster had said: “If anybody in your household has been bitten, for your own safety and theirs, they need to be secluded, and we are advising that people put a big ‘X’ on the door where the infected are. Do not, under any circumstances, believe that you can help them. As of right now, they just need to be contained.”

  And that is exactly what we had talked about when I got home.

  “I love you very much, Darren, and I am sorry. Please understand. I need to survive, if not for me then for the baby. I’m pregnant, sweetie.”

  I just sat there on the floor staring at her. I understood everything she said; I just couldn’t say anything back. It was like my mouth was full of Novocain. I mumbled what I thought was the only thing I felt was relevant…

  “Uh…mm…brains?”

  As I watched her walk away, I can’t help wonder how this would have turned out, had I never met her…

  Things Worse Than Death

  By Bryan Vogt

  With each passing hour, the undead hordes grew in number and strength. They recruited the living involuntarily into their ranks through a bite, or strengthened themselves by gorging on living flesh. The ever-dwindling population of human survivors was continually forced to fight and struggle to survive one more hour, one more day. Hopelessness and despair filled their hearts with each battle and every step. Amongst the ruins of fallen civilizations around the world, bands of survivors scurried and darted in and out of hidden nooks and shadowed crannies like rodents hoping to remain unseen and unnoticed. Every breath taken was a shallow token victory for the living.

  * * *

  Peter was with six other survivors, all of whom were complete strangers. The group had been running and fighting since they found each other. Never was there a chance for introductions or normal societal pleasantries, only running and fighting.

  The undead filled the whole street, and suddenly they had nowhere else to run. One female survivor eyed a nearby door void of the surrounding undead. She dashed towards the door praying to God it would be unlocked. Her prayers were answered. All but one in the group managed to make it through the store’s rear entrance. Once inside, with the door locked, the remaining survivors fell to the floor in mental exhaustion and physical fatigue; emotionally numb and filled with shock, their bodies ached.

  Peter slowly raised his head to survey the surroundings from his seated vantage point. The place was a small storefront that appeared to have been no longer operational. A couple of old desks, a few beat-up moving boxes on the floor, and miscellaneous litter from various fast food establishments were scattered about the room. A row of freestanding partitions obstructed his view of the front of the store, but he was still able to see the street in between the gaps of the partitions. The store’s front wall consisted of glass: large windowpanes and a double door. Beyond the false security of the glass wall, Peter could see a large number of undead shuffling aimlessly in the street.

  “Goddamn it! That hurt, really hurt,” a man yelled from across the small room where the survivors gathered. Peter swung his head to the sound of the voice, his hair standing on end like a cornered animal’s fur. He watched as an attractive blonde woman tried to cover a man’s bleeding hand with a piece of torn cloth.

  It occurred to Peter that the injured man might have been bitten. But, after today, Peter wasn’t sure if he could any longer believe what he saw. How could he, he wondered. Every pair of eyes he had looked into today were either undead or soon to be undead. Glancing around the room, he scrutinized each survivor, wondering who else may have been bitten. Everyone in the room looked like hell with their torn and blood-covered clothes, vacant eyes, and the eerie aura of darkness around them. Would anyone ever admit they were bit? Would I, Peter considered.

  Peter snapped out of his dark musings when a large Hispanic man jumped to his feet gripping a fireman’s axe. The man’s eyes burned with an intense anger, the muscles in his arms and neck were taut. Peter felt a terrible sense of foreboding. His opportunity to reflect and dwell on the day’s events had come to an end. Would he ever get that chance again?

  “He’s been bitten!” the Hispanic man screamed, pointing the axe blade at the injured man. “You all know what’s gonna happen to him. He’ll turn, you all know it!” The man’s eyes narrowed and his grip on the axe handle grew tighter.

  “What! I’m fine. This isn’t…isn’t a bite! It happened when I fell,” the man with the injured hand cried out. Tears began to fill his eyes as he searched for understanding or compassion in the others’ faces. The room became silent, only the injured man’s sobs could be heard. The attractive woman and a man with a tie slowly moved away from the wounded, sobbing man. A wave of panic and anxiety started to fill the room. No one was certain if the man had been bitten or had only suffered from a terrible wound. Not even the woman who had bandaged him was certain; but certainty was no longer a
basis of decision in this violent and deadly world. The words ‘impossible’ and ‘unbelievable’ had been stricken from the vocabulary. Survival was based on quick reaction, not contemplation.

  “He might be telling the…” a black woman cried when an axe swung towards the injured man. Blood sprayed across the room when the axe blade cut into flesh and bone. The blade was buried deep into the man’s collarbone, killing him instantly. The survivors, now all on their feet, stared lost in thought as they looked down upon the dead man lying before them. The Hispanic man stepped on the dead man’s chest, pushing his foot downward while pulling the axe handle upward to dislodge the sunken blade from the motionless corpse. Blood pooled around the body where it lay.

  Clutching an arm’s length piece of rebar, Peter casually walked up to the dead body and raised his makeshift weapon and swung down upon the head. He mustered all the strength in his tired, worn body, and again and again rained violent blows to the corpse’s head until it was no longer recognizable. Peter stopped to catch his breath, then turned facing the others. Splatters of blood and flesh clung to his clothes and weapon.

  “Just like in the movies. You have to destroy the brain. Destroy the brain,” Peter said in a calm voice. After taking a moment to reflect, he added, with a smirk on his face. “That is, if they are infected.”

  Peter’s comment cut the other remaining survivors to their core. Self-doubt and second-guessing passed through their minds, then, survival instincts kicked in and pushed all self-doubt away.

  “Whatever, man. Any motherfucker who tries and bites me gets his head chopped off. I ain’t taking no chances,” the man with the axe shouted. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt he wiped away all traces of blood and flesh from the blade. The man wearing the tie murmured his approval and picked up the baseball bat that he placed on the floor earlier. Being weaponless made individuals feel helpless and weak. Those feelings were now a death sentence. Survival of the fittest was the law of the land.