Wake Up Dead - an Undead Anthology

by Suzanne Robb

  He began to choke violently and coughed up bits of yellow and green phlegm. His mouth was filled with the taste of rotten eggs, as he tried to repress a second choking fit.

  Examining his body as he dressed, he failed to notice that the sores were spreading. The collar of his shirt no longer hid the open sores that were growing up his neck and onto his face. Nor did his sleeves hide the sores on his hands.

  A mortal would have died five times over. He'd never been able to imagine the pain that they felt. The ones who suffered with it now should think themselves lucky to die, go so quickly. His pain was far greater than theirs, and he did not have the endless sleep they were finally blessed with.

  Suddenly, he doubled over with a stabbing pain in his stomach. The hunger was back and needed to be satisfied. Last night, he'd feasted on the blood of an alley cat. It was too bitter and too little for him. He hadn't had human blood in months and craved it more than anything now.

  In his condition, people walked away from him. They even chased him. He thought of the times when he could charm anyone. They would be in his power and beg him to do his bidding. That was a lifetime ago. He'd begun to lose most of his charismatic charms back in the late eighties, when he no longer was able to hide the symptoms.

  He needed some air so he pulled the duct tape off the black window shades and opened the window.

  Leaning against the window sill of his motel room, he looked out. The pink neon of the Vacancy sign was a beacon of Judgement Day to him.

  The end of the Millennium was months away he thought. Half the country was infected and dying or already dead. The other half was fighting over what would be left when the afflicted all had died. When the button is pushed I'll still be here, being eaten away from the inside.

  He began to laugh, as tears ran down his face. Now I'm going crazy, he thought.

  Another sharp pain stabbed at his stomach. He needed sustenance, and it had to be from a human tonight.

  He put on his tattered coat and limped to the door.

  The weather was cold, and he felt the chill deep in his bones. He remembered one winter he'd spent in Maine. It had been at least ten below zero, and he'd gone out to feed in a jogging suit. Climate had never bothered him. Now everything did.

  Looking the way he did, and the condition he was in, he could not get into any bars or clubs. Instead, he searched the alleyways for a sleeping drunk or a homeless person. They were easy enough to find.

  Not long after he'd begun his search, he found his prey. An old man with a yellowed beard, reeking from Ripple and urine, was sleeping in a doorway of an apartment house.

  The wino had on tattered layers of rotted, filthy clothes. Bits of newspaper peeked out through the many holes in his outfit.

  The heat was on high in the building, and the man was lucky enough to get this spot where he could keep warm.

  Randy knelt besides him. "I am truly sorry my friend."

  The Vampire was about to sink his rotted teeth into the man's exposed throat when a bottle crashed against his skull.

  "Get the hell away from me! This is my spot. Get away. Find your own place to sleep!"

  Randy was already running down the block when the wino started shouting. After running only a half a block he was winded. He paused to compose himself and then continued up the avenue.

  The streets seemed deserted to him. Walking along the silent streets, he noticed that nothing stirred except for the steam rising from the sidewalk grates. He felt somewhat powerful. It was as though the people of the city knew that Randolph Blazedale roamed the streets once again. He fancied them cowering in their

  homes behind barricaded doors. There was a time that he could have had that effect on any city. Now he couldn't even feed on a drunk.

  He was beginning to feel sorry for himself again when he saw an unaccompanied woman crossing the street along the deserted avenue.

  He rushed to the corner to meet her as she crossed. His plan was to ask her directions and then grab her and drag her off behind the dumpster on the side of Burger King.

  She was walking briskly, her eyes darting in every direction. She was holding her pocketbook in front of her and under her arm. She was definitely aware of her surroundings. Streetwise, he thought. He would have to act swiftly.

  She began to veer to the left, away from him. He quickly moved after her.

  "Excuse me ma'am," he said. His voice was still soothing. The woman stopped and decided to hear what he had to say.

  He took a few steps towards her and stopped under the streetlight. "I was wondering if you could..."

  He was interrupted by her scream. She sprayed his eyes with mace, and then he screamed. He crumpled to the floor as she ran away.

  Moments later, when the burning had somewhat subsided he stood up. What made her scream?, he thought. Then lifted his twisted right hand to his face and felt the horror that the woman had seen.

  His face was covered with large, oozing sores. I probably look like a monster, he thought. He would never himself be able to see the horror of what he looked like. He even began to forget what he had looked like before he became a Vampire. In fact, it had been well over two hundred years since he had seen his own reflection.

  Slowly, his sight began to return to him, and he could see the woman on the next block. She was telling her story to big man in a stained tee-shirt, standing in front of a pizzeria. The man looked in Randy's direction and disappeared inside the pizzeria. Moments later, three men came out, followed by the big man. They all piled into a battered Duster and started it up.

  In some other life, Randy could have, would have, torn an army to shreds. Now, he had been defeated by a wino and a petite little woman. He felt hopeless.

  He knew those men would hurt him. Any injuries would not be fatal, but they would not heal. His leg still never fully healed after he'd been beaten by a runny-nosed kid with a baseball bat, over six months ago. The kid hadn't liked the way Randy had looked at him.

  All things considered Randy decided that it would be in his best interest to flee.

  He turned, ran down the avenue, and crossed the street. When he turned the corner, he ducked down behind the overflowing garbage cans between a six-family house and a gutted building.

  The car skidded and turned down the block where he hid. It did not stop but continued down the narrow street.

  He thought of going inside the building to hide out for a while. However, he knew that if he rested, even for a moment, he might fall asleep. Randy could not remember the last time he had done all of this walking and running.

  After waiting several minutes, to be sure they were gone, he got up from his spot behind the garbage cans. He heard his bones crack with the strain of movement as he stood and stretched.

  He took a laborious step and then another one. Suddenly, he heard a slight noise, and he was bathed in light.

  Slowly, he turned, shielding his eyes from the glare with a hand covered with angry red, puckering sores.

  That was when he noticed that the disease had spread. He brought a hand up to his face and felt them - large and warm, secreting puss.

  He turned away from the glaring lights. He tried to run, but came up against a wall of immovable flesh.

  The big man in the greasy tee-shirt stood in front of him with a baseball bat in his hand and a smile on his face.

  The lights got brighter as the Duster crept up the alley where the two figures stood.

  The three men got out of the car. A tall thin man, who didn't look much like a man as he did a pimply-faced kid, resembled the baseball fan. He was carrying a tire iron. Another short, stocky man wearing a black tee-shirt with a white peace sign held nothing.

  The third man from the car, actually the fourth man in all, stood by the car, reluctant to join his friends. He was behind the headlights' glare, and Randy could not see his face.

  Three men circled Randy. There was silence for a brief moment when the men were sizing him up. They figured that he wasn't armed
or he would have pulled out his weapon already. Assuming that they had the upper hand, the big man spoke.

  "What are you doing, walking the streets?"

  "Yeah what are ya doin'?" the tall kid echoed.

  "Just what is that shit all over your face, anyway?" the big man continued.

  The peace man chimed in, "That's that disease, the one that's all over the news."

  "Shit, I never seen anybody that far gone," said the big man.

  "Isn't this that faggot disease?"

  "That's right, it is. We got ourselves a faggot. Tell me, faggot, what were you doing with that woman?" said the big man, pointing at Randy with his bat.

  "Yeah, what were you doing?" parroted the kid.

  Randy looked at them, his eyes brimming over with ageless hatred. Nevertheless, he tried nothing hoping they would leave him alone. Actually, he hoped the big man would sharpen the bat and drive it through his heart.

  "Aw look, the little girl is going to cry," said the peace man. Looking over his shoulder he called to his friend.

  "C'mon, let's teach this homo a lesson."

  "Teach him a lesson," the kid repeated.

  The man standing by the car shook his head. "Leave him alone. You said you wanted to scare him. You did, let's go."

  "Finished?" asked the big man. "Not by a long shot. I don't want no diseased faggot touching the neighborhood women."

  The big man raised the bat and swung.

  Randy raised his arm, trying to ward off the blow.

  "No, you don't understand," was what Randy was beginning to say when the bat shattered his right forearm and dislocated his shoulder.

  He fell to the ground, knocking over the garbage cans.

  He looked helpless, flailing his legs in the rotting debris.

  "Please, please, leave me alone," he begged.

  "Look at him whine. Should I give him another?" asked the big man.

  "He's had enough. Leave him alone, damn it," said the man by the car, advancing a step.

  "Give him another, said the kid, offering him the tire iron.

  "No thanks, Joey I got something better in mind."

  He grinned at his friends. Several teeth were missing from his mouth, the ones that remained were stained brown from tobacco.

  He threw the bat to the floor and looked at the peace man.

  "Give me the knife, Billy," demanded the big man.

  "Sure thing," Billy said.

  Billy reached into his pocket and pulled out the switchblade. Before handing it over he said, "Be careful Al. It's very sharp."

  "The sharper the better," said Al.

  "Watch it Al. You might get his blood on you," warned Billy.

  "Don't worry about me," Al said. He pulled a stained handkerchief from his back pocket and wrapped it around his hand. "I'm only gonna stab him once. Right in his fag heart."

  The man who had been standing by the car had joined the group now.

  He was a black man in his thirties. His face was strong and badly scarred.

  "This has gone far enough. Give me the knife," he said.

  "What are you? In love with this fag?" asked Al.

  By this time, Randy had managed to stand up, being ever so careful not to move his ruined arm.

  Joey saw him standing there and swung the tire iron.

  It missed its mark, striking the brick wall behind Randy.

  The noise distracted Al, and the black man made his move. He swung his foot in an arc, connecting with Billy's face. Billy crumpled instantly. The black man delivered an elbow to Al's solar plexus. Al doubled over, dropping the knife.

  Joey advanced, swinging the tire iron wildly. "You're dead you fucking nigger," screamed Joey, as he brought the weapon down with blinding speed and force.

  Again, Joey missed his mark. The black man had dived to the ground and rolled. As he got up, he grabbed a garbage can lid and threw it like a frisbee at Joey. It hit Joey's knee, and Joey fell down. The weapon was wrenched from his hand and he was kicked to the ground.

  The black man then walked over to Randy.

  "Are you all right?" he said offering his hand.

  Randy took it with his good hand and pulled himself up.

  "Barely. How can I repay you?"

  "By letting me take you to a hospital. My name is Barry."

  "Well, Barry my name is Randy. As much as I would like to, I can't go to the hospital. There is nothing they can do for me anymore."

  "I know what you mean. My brother had the same thing. Near the end all we could do was try and make him comfortable."

  Randy looked into Barry's eyes; they appeared to have seen much pain.

  "Comfortable. I have passed that stage ages ago."

  In a blinding rush of movement Al pushed Randy back to the ground and swung the bat at Barry. It connected with his head. There was a sickening sound. It sounded like a melon breaking open when dropped to the floor.

  While Barry was lying on the ground helpless, Al hit him with the bat again and again and again.

  The smell of blood sent the stabbing pangs of hunger back inside Randy. The hunger was unbearable. It felt as if a hand had reached inside his body and gripped his stomach in a vise.

  Slowly Al stopped hitting Barry, who'd died shortly after the first blow. He turned and looked at Randy.

  Al took a few steps and stooped to pick up the knife, and then continued until he was inches from where Randy lay.

  From behind him, Al heard Billy stirring.

  "What the hell happened?" he asked.

  "Take a look," replied Al.

  Billy walked over to where Barry's body lay. He looked down, and an expression of nausea washed over his face.

  "Aw, man. Why did you have to kill him?"

  "Just go see about Joey, you friggin quiff."

  Billy obeyed and helped Joey. Joey was limping and complained about his leg until he saw Barry. Joey didn't say anything. He just looked at Barry's dead body.

  "Now that I taught the nigger a lesson, I'm gonna teach that fag boy a lesson."

  "No, c'mon. Let's just get the hell outta here," pleaded Joey.

  "Yeah, Al. Let's get out of here fast," Billy said, putting his hand on Al's shoulder.

  Al shrugged it off and said, "Nothing doing. He's dead."

  Al pressed the little silver button on the side of the switchblade.

  Billy started, "Be care..."

  "Son of a bitch!" said Al.

  Randy saw the thin, tiny stream of blood from the wound on Al's finger. The stabbing pain did not return, but a little strength did. Randy gripped Al's wrist with his left hand and Al screamed.

  Pulling himself up, Randy applied more pressure.

  Al dropped the knife, stunned at the resistance more than the pain. He drew back his left arm to deliver a blow when Randy sank his teeth into Al's wrist.

  The arterial blood squirted out like a geyser before Randy began to feed.

  Al was screaming for help, but his friends were shocked.

  A few seconds went by before Billy grabbed the tire iron and tried to save Al.

  "You crazy son of a bitch!" said Billy.

  Randy was enraptured by his feeding, and his mouth was pressed to Al's wrist like a leech. Only the second blow from the tire iron dislodged him from Al.

  Once he was freed, Joey tied a bandanna around Al's wrist.

  Billy continued to strike Randy, who was already unconscious from the blows to the head.

  "Billy, come on. We got to get Al to the Emergency Room."

  Billy threw the weapon down and ran toward the back of the alley and into the car.

  Driving out, they made sure that they ran Randy over, which they did, over both of his legs.

  ***

  Randy was lost in a myriad of images. In them, he was his old self again, and nothing hurt. Nothing. However, he eventually woke up several hours later.

  It was five-fifteen a.m., and the city was still dark.

  The euphoria of his feeding began we
aring off, and the pain was all that he felt. The right side of his face was caved in, and he could not see out of that eye. His whole left side was smashed and broken. Part of the bone stuck out through the skin. His legs, however, were worse. They had been driven over. Every inch of them was splintered and shattered. The pain was unbearable. He did not know what to do.

  Looking up at the roof he saw the sky was betting lighter. He was scared. He knew he could not get back home in time.

  He tried to move, but the slightest fraction of movement sent bolts of pain throughout his ruined body.

  Then he knew what was going to happen, and smiled. He hadn't seen the sun in over two hundred years. Today he would see it again.

  Looking over at Barry's dead body, which was already attracting flies, he said "We're off to a better place, my friend."

  At five-thirty-two Randy saw the sun rise. At five-thirty-four he died for the second, and the last time.

  VOODOO CHILD

  Caitlin Gunn

  Adisa walked slowly back to the camp, knowing that the night would be long and painful. Before morning, though, she would hold her child for the first time, and that was enough to settle her mind and ease the terrible aches from within her belly. She had spoken with Acua'ba – the Goddess of fertility – and had been told that the birth would be horrifying; she would wish herself dead, according to the great Goddess. Yet, she knew that all would eventually be well, and her child would be the most beautiful she could ever wish for. It was that mentality that would get her through.

  She hoped that Acua'ba was wrong, somehow. Her pain was already intolerable, which was one of the reasons why she had not ventured far from the camp.

  'Adisa!' a voice called out. She turned to find Nkechi, her brother, looking more than a little concerned. 'Where have you been? You shouldn't be walking around in your state. You have given father a headache with your mindless wandering.'

  Adisa smiled. If she hadn't been in so much pain, she would have laughed aloud. 'Father has a headache because he drank too much,' she said. 'I needed to walk. I can't just wait.'