by Jim Couper
Dawn approached. Jane, Donald and the new colonel, sleepless and exhausted, fought side-by-side with trigger fingers blistered and ammunition running short. Only a dozen soldiers, assorted snipers, a shoe salesman, a plumber, a pharmacist and two firefighters atop their truck remained. They didn’t have the option of quitting and going home because the zombie horde surrounded them and minute by minute came closer.
Helicopters created a constant cacophony above the low mist while contributing nothing to the allied forces. Explosives they dropped missed the target or took out equal numbers of allies and enemies. Sharpshooters in the sky could not distinguish attacker from attackee amidst the smoke, similar clothing and general chaos.
“Got a plan?” Jane asked in desperation.
“Fight till I die,” Donald answered.
“To hell, monster,” the new Colonel blared and fired his bazooka through the head of a zombie and into the gas tank of the a truck, which exploded and killed two aboard. The new Colonel paused and gaped at the mess. A crawling cannibal he had counted as dead got a hand around his ankle.
“Zombie grope,” he shouted and Jane smashed the hand with her rifle butt. It didn’t retract, but instead pulled the ankle to its teeth and took a bite of Achilles tendon. A teenage zombie, oblivious to a barrage of bullets, stumbled from the melee and lunged upon the lamed new Colonel. When he went down Jane knew no hope remained, nothing could save him. Anyone who went down never got up.
“Don’t let me be one of them,” the Colonel roared and those words were his last words. The disembowelment routine commenced then one bullet from Donald went through the new Colonel’s cranium. No one had time or energy to chop off his head to prevent him from rising again. An axe in the hand of a plumber instead fell on the neck of the killer and sent it to zombie hell.
“Any regrets?” Jane shouted to Donald, knowing their end was inevitable.
“We should at least have gone on a date,” he gasped. “I didn’t know you had such warrior instincts.”
“Yeah, stayin’ alive instincts run deep. Dinner and a movie? Pawn of the Dead is showing.”
“I don’t have a car. Do you mind walking?”
“Not at all. We could go …” Jane didn’t finish her sentence. Grey, bony fingers of a drooling wall-eyed creature pulled her shoulder and she staggered backwards. The plumber fighting beside her swung his axe, missed the attacker’s head and chopped off a chunk of its chest and part of an arm. Two particularly decrepit creatures from the grave got onto the plumber and mauled him down. The police chief saw the fate that awaited her as putrid faces plunged into the plumber’s rippling belly. Still alive, he screamed that he had children to look after and he would find plump people to eat if they would just spare him.
Pushed to the front of the battlefield by salivating soldiers of misfortune who filled the gaps left by those who took a fatal hit, Mort had a prime view of the meat locker below the statue. His soldiers refused to follow orders he had been shouting although he stood at the front as their de facto commander. His words did not have the clarity of Doogie’s. In their quest to get to the temps Mort’s followers knocked each other over and stepped on the fallen ones. Faces had footprints.
Mort stepped onto a curb and then backed up onto the base of a platform supporting a statue of a WW II hero. A dozen yards away a nucleus of delicious orgasm-inducing, still-living organs held off the attacking soldiers of misfortune. He eyed Jane, slightly plump, and imagined she would taste as good as Heady. His legs trembled.
“There ith more meath,” Mort shouted as best he could without losing excessive amounts of thick drool. A scooping motion of hand to mouth indicated that redder pastures lay in a different direction. Both hands pointed to a narrow laneway. Despite the saliva surplus he upped the volume and bellowed, “Thith path take uth to more meath, more brainth. To ‘nother school.”
Heady stood on a curb, pulled at fellow soldiers, turned them around and pointed them to the path Mort indicated. She understood Mort’s message. Her brain transplant must be working.
Mort pushed sunglasses up, stared into vacant eyes and repeated his order, “Take the path.” Zombies with ears that seemed not to hear and brains that didn’t comprehend slumped away as if the teacher had given them a detention and they had to find the room in which to serve it.
Jane heard poorly pronounced words come from the mouth of an undead that pulled at fellow attackers and pointed them towards a path. She surmised the talking dead may have suddenly figured out there was no longer sufficient food at the battle site. Starving newly-risen wanted to eat, but little remained to go around. A march through town to another school could produce practically unlimited stock. KinderKids preschool opened in an hour or so and a shiver of fear quaked through Jane’s tired body at the thought of going through it all again. She prayed the army would get there first. Then she had second thoughts, grabbed her phone and ordered road blocks.
Mort moved from one agitated, bloodthirsty zombie to another, calming them with a stare and a repeated order. When he turned them around and pushed them towards the path they continued lurching in the right direction and others followed. Wading among the carnage, taking shot after shot to head and body, Mort yelled, “Retreath.”
Mort marched his soldiers along a dirt trail. They shuffled in disarray while moaning and groaning, possibly in protest, possibly in hunger, possibly in pain. With loud words and hand to mouth motions Mort promised a great feast ahead and without much cognitive ability they followed him, tasting a kindergarten or play school ahead. Stragglers followed the followers and Heady kept all in line.
The narrow trail twisted upwards, across a hillside and then slightly downwards towards the suburbs. Mort had walked it hundreds of times, revelling in the beauty of nature, smelling the wild roses, picking berries and letting butterflies land on his hand. Now he walked senseless, blind to nature, fighting the urge to tear apart people and consume them. He had seen so many die he wanted to cry. And again he was hungry. When was he not hungry?
Mort led the sorry parade and Heady trundled along at the rear making sure no one changed whatever mind they had. A herding instinct took hold. The last flesh eaters, fighting the handful of humans, deserted their battle and joined their comrades in the march to the greater meat source.
The trail wound uphill for just 10 minutes then twisted between two boulders and turned sharply left. Heady worked her way to the front. The lights of town faded and no one could appreciate the beauty of the land in the thick morning mist. Mort waved Heady to go first and she stepped ahead. He was getting to like her despite the maggots, worms and eau d’zombie that soared way beyond the standard of the dead. She took two steps and Mort heard her feet shuffle on dirt and stones. He knew she would continue directly ahead in the semi-dark. After a silence came a splash. One by one Mort directed the lemmings ahead and one by one they vanished into the dull morning, followed by a splash. When none remained Mort stepped forward and looked down at the lake that he loved and loathed. He felt shame for what he had done, although he knew some force beyond his understanding had driven him. The experience made him know what it was to live as a temporary human. It had made him a better man and a better zombie. Perhaps he would be resurrected in the future and things would go better now that he had experience. “It ith a far, far bether thing I do now,” he said quietly, not remembering quite how Dick had written it. “Ith a better rest I go to than I hath had.” He shuffled two steps forward and fear clenched its steely hand around his throat. He welcomed the feeling. He took another step, floated free and then water pulled the flesh from his bones as he slid through it. Atop the heap of bodies at the bottom he landed. For the second time in his life he was dead in the water.
Five of six stubborn zombies who remained behind to fight for their dinner were quickly dealt with as snipers, tanks, mortars, grenades and rocket launchers could be deployed without worry about missing their targets as little remained to be destroyed and the smouldering town was
deserted. The tired, straggling zombs went down, defiling pavement and lawn without twitch, threat or bite from a head that lay apart from body.
A whoosh of blurred white raced down the main street at a speed that made it impossible to discern from whirling snow or spiralling fog. The blur of fur stopped for just an instant and a huge creature opened its arms and put down a pair of gnomes. The tiny alterlife scurried into a densely wooded park and squirreled into the underbrush. The last zombie lurched after them and, following a swoosh of flying white fur, its head landed 10 paces from its feet. Huge steps and flashing speed took the pale, white master monster from sight.
“Did you see that?” Jane asked, breathless, disbelieving her eyes.
“Not sure what I saw,” Donald responded quietly. “I think that was an abominable snowman. I got its picture with my phone, but it sure is blurry.”
The new colonel got his wish as Jane and Donald made sure his body was among those thrown onto the flaming fire truck. They didn’t wait for a court order: they cremated every dead body, whether vampire, zombie, soldier or citizen. As they worked, the lack of gunfire brought curious citizens from their homes. Some brought coffee and food and others brought weapons that seemed token gestures as they knew the battle had been won. Everyone wanted to celebrate with a big party, but they had made that error before.Jane and Donald wanted nothing but sleep and that’s what they got after the last body burned.
Vampires took taxis to cemeteries in towns several few miles distant and, full of blood, found security within crypts where no other dared go. They would wait, dormant, for better times. When they emerged, in a decade or two, Vladimir’s bar would be in new hands. Perhaps some new electronics stores would be open with exciting products. Patience was their virtue.
Jane and Donald slept all day then kept their date. They walked to the theatre and walked out of the movie after 30 minutes. It portrayed the night creatures as pathetic, helpless, defenceless things that could be downed with a single shot to the head.
Over a dinner table they held hands. When their red steaks arrived they couldn’t stomach them and instead went right to apple pie with two scoops of vanilla ice cream. After dinner they strolled towards Tim's for coffee and gossip with the regulars. On the way they heard brains grunted from the bushes.
"It's just kids playing zombie games," Jane said as she sighted a gaggle of youngsters in a playground behind a hedge. A girl bent forward with arms in front as she stumbled towards the others.
The End
Read on for a free sample of Chet & Floyd vs The Apocalypse
Chapter - 1
“Okay, Chet, who do we grab?”
“It’s not that easy Floyd. There is too much to think about.”
“Think fast. If we stay here too long we’ll be the food.”
Huddled in the corner of the water-sodden and decaying upstairs bedroom was a family, consisting of a man, a woman and a child. Even in their fear they did not hold each other with any fervent animal panic. Their postures showed defeat and patience in as they waited for their sentence to be carried out.
Their jury consisted of two men, tall and lithe. White skin peeked under layers of grime. The one named Chet had brown hair that was slicked down, probably by saliva, into a little boy’s part. He wore glasses that he constantly adjusted, as if they caused him discomfort. He was looking at the family with a frown that moved and twitched as his thoughts changed.
Floyd, though not over thirty, had the shockingly white hair of an old man. He was as much a statue as Chet was constant movement. He stared directly at the family without even as much as a blink.
“Do you even have any thoughts on this one yourself?” Chet asked Floyd. “You will have as much to blame in this decision as I do. You have to have an opinion.”
“I know that I’m starving, and I need to eat,” Floyd said. “I’m running out of morals on the whole thing. Just pick somebody. This was your idea.”
“And you’re just going to go along with it? I’m talking about eating people Floyd. This is not the usual way you choose between Chinese and Italian,” Chet said and laughed. “Don’t give me any trouble about the morality issue of it. I am starving as much as you, and you know I would never be inclined to do what we are about to do if I had any other choice.” Chet paused in his speech, waiting for Floyd to save his soul with a word. Floyd kicked a piece of debris into the corner where the family sat. They yelped.
“You don’t need me to aid in your conscience Chet,” Floyd said.
“Yes I do! Balm me Floydy baby.” Chet puckered his lips at Floyd. Floyd slapped him.
“Be serious.”
“I don’t think I can. How do I make the choice? Aren’t you going to help me?” Chet said. His twitches became more serious as his agitation grew.
“I’m going to slap you again if you start getting crazy on me,” Floyd said. “Get serious Chet.”
“I am serious.” Chet smiled wickedly and looked back at the family. “Although I think you are a bit of a bully for making me decide. You don’t really think about my feelings too much.”
“I’m just thinking about my stomach,” Floyd said.
“I don’t suppose you people could help me out with this?” Chet asked the family. His question was answered by the sound of water dripping off shredded wall-paper. “Funny. I would think you would have the most opinion on the matter. Let’s see…we could take the father. Couldn’t we Floyd?”
“We could take the father,” Floyd said.
“Then what will the family do about food? We will leave them with just the mother and the boy. I don’t want to sound sexist or anything Floyd,” Chet said. He looked at Floyd for reassurance. Floyd waved his hand as if to say that he wasn’t offended. “Men are just the more powerful sex, and this world is just not hospitable. It’s just not safe. We take the father, and we take safety.”
“We could take the boy,” Floyd said. The boy in the corner whimpered at the comment.
“You can’t take my son,” The woman said.
“It’s too late for you to have an opinion,” Chet said. “You had your chance to pipe up, and you all played dumb. Now that I know you can hear me and respond to me, I can write you off as rude. My mother always said it’s polite to respond when someone speaks to you. You are rude, and I don’t care to converse with rude people.” Chet turned from the woman and spoke to Floyd. “We could take the boy, but he won’t provide much of a meal.”
“I may be able to turn the other cheek with your sexist comments Chet, but I don’t appreciate your ageist statements.” Floyd made a disapproving face.
“Is there even such a thing as that?” Chet said. “I didn’t know I had such a problem. I guess you’re right Floyd. I don’t like taking the boy based on his age. I tried to cover it up, but, as always, you see right through me. Eating a person makes me feel bad enough. But a child? For whatever reason I feel even worse about that. There is just something so wrong with that.”
“Then that leaves the woman,” Floyd said. “The man can provide for the son. We can’t take the son, because you have moral issues that go deeper than you previously thought. I’m just curious as to the cut-off age Chet. This kid can’t be over six years old. Would you eat a ten year old?”
“Probably not,” Chet said.
“How about a fifteen year old?” Floyd asked.
Chet thought for a moment. “I don’t think I could do that either. Just shut up about it Floyd. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I think you’re just pestering me, and you know I don’t like it when you pester me for no reason. I am not your sport. I am not your amusement Floyd. Oh, hell, I guess you could say that if they look like that,” Chet gestured desperately at the man and woman in the corner, “I feel okay about eating them. The people I eat have to look like that! I don’t know why and don’t ask me.”
“Would you eat a black person?” Floyd asked.
“I don’t know. That’s not fair,” Chet said.
; Floyd jabbed Chet in the ribs. “You are such a racist Chet.”
“No I am not! I cherish people of every color, and I can name to you right now good personal friends from every race or ethnic background you can think of!”
“I am your only friend Chet.”
“I don’t think it’s so hard to believe that people are more comfortable eating people of their own race. I bet if we had a black guy here right now he would tell you the same thing. He’d probably have us take another look around the place to make sure there wasn’t a black person hiding that we could choose from.”
“Would you let him choose who we ate just because he was black?” Floyd said.
“No, it would just add another level to the conversation. It would make this more interesting. Add a little dynamic.”
“It does open up a whole new level of things,” Floyd said. “We take the woman?”
“We take the woman,” Chet said. They moved in on the family in the corner. Chet brandished a knife, which kept the man from fighting as they dragged his wife away.
The boy held onto her dress. Floyd got him off with a kick to the jaw. They gently dragged the woman down the stairs, careful not to bump her head on the steps.
“Did you have to kick him Floyd?” Chet said.
“He was hanging on pretty tight. Next time I’ll try and reason with next time we eat his mom,” Floyd said.
“Not funny Floyd. You are turning into such a monster.”
Floyd opened the front door and looked up and down the empty streets. He was happy that no one had followed them there. People were always a problem.
He nodded to Chet, and they carried the woman outside to the back of the house. The sky was gray with clouds promising rain, but the weather was warm. They had parked their car in the home’s back lawn, covering it with a heavy black tarp. Floyd put down the woman and pulled off the tarp.
“She’s going to take up the whole back seat. We really need to find something with more room,” Chet said.
