A Fistful of Zombies: 12 Zombie Tales

by Dane Hatchell

  Six groups of five men loaded up and headed out. The attack was coming from the opposite direction of the valley. Each group kept ten yards apart and traveled in a wide line, with the intent of keeping the adjoining group in eyesight through the trees and brush.

  Keith struggled to keep up with his team as it sped forward. Ironically, a few minutes earlier he was in fear of his life by the hands of these same men. Now, he was elbow to elbow joining in battle. Something inside compelled him to go with the flow. Survival had become a minute-by-minute decision.

  When the war party was about half a mile from the village, the first shots rang out. The group on the far left had made first contact. The remaining groups moved to flank the undead. More shots were fired. Keith caught a glimpse of a staggering corpse through the thick foliage.

  “Don’t shoot unless you get a clear headshot. Make every shell count!” Keith’s group leader demanded.

  Repetitive gun blasts filled the air. Buckshot mowed down the undead left and right. Keith stopped, took aim, and brought his first down with a direct hit between the eyes. It brought a certain satisfaction, a new sense of belonging with this strange band of survivors. He wondered if he had judged these people too fast.

  Grotesque corpses reanimated to life powered their way through brush and around trees, driven by an unquenchable lust for warm living flesh. They were oblivious to the shotguns discharging or their brethren falling alongside.

  Heads exploded, bodies fell to eternal rest under the cool shade of century old conifers. The smell of decaying meat mixed with the bittersweet smell of gunpowder.

  In less time than Keith thought possible, the zombie menace met its end. He stood back and watched as the men gathered the spent shotgun shells from the ground, and then realized that it was his responsibility too.

  On the trip back, Keith caught up with Steve’s group and joined his friend. “Man, that was a rush!”

  “I’ll say!” Steve said, beaming. “At first, I was shaking so bad that I was afraid to even pull the trigger. But after the guys in the group dropped a few, I sucked it up and shot one right in the mouth. The buckshot must have severed the spine leading to the head, because its head popped off and rolled on the ground toward me. I was still so jumpy I pumped another round and blew it to bits.”

  Keith laughed. “I got three. One of them reminded me of my boss. Well, ex-boss—Fontaine. I enjoyed taking that one down.” He laughed again.

  “One of the guys got two with one shot. He said he planned it that way, but I think he just got lucky.”

  “I don’t know. These guys operate like a well-oiled machine. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t do that just to make the hunt more interesting. We totally slaughtered them. It felt good to be on the offensive for a change.”

  “I know what you mean. Oh man, I just thought about Jill and Kara. We were caught up in this so fast I haven’t had time to worry about them.”

  “I’m sure they’re fine,” Keith said. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  As the victorious warriors approached the village, unexpected somber faces lined up to greet them. Two men moved up to meet Bronson. “We have some bad news,” one said.

  “What, did we lose someone? Was the village attacked?” Bronson said.

  “No, the village wasn’t attacked. Elisabeth . . . Elisabeth and Teri are both dead.”

  “Dead? How?”

  “Teri stabbed Elisabeth . . . Elisabeth grabbed a gun and shot Teri. Teri died instantly . . . Elisabeth, not long after.”

  Bronson looked down, shaking his head. “Bitches. Ah well, life goes on.” He turned quickly, and strode off as if unconcerned.

  Pete continued with the rest of the men toward the main area of the village. Keith picked up his pace to a trot and caught up with him.

  “What is it with Bronson? He just lost his two women and he looks more pissed off than upset.”

  Pete continued walking without bothering to look at Keith. “Elisabeth was new. Teri, well, he’s had her over half a year. Probably tired of her shit by now. Not that great of a loss to him. He’s a busy man. Life goes on, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s what Bronson said, too. So what, the girls were nothing more than possessions? He’s the King? He just takes what he wants? He can always just take more?”

  Pete stopped. “Now look, Bronson doesn’t take anything. Any woman that’s his he has earned. It’s our way. The way of our village.”

  “Okay, whatever.” Keith became lost in a mixture of conflicting emotions.

  “I hear that you and Steve did a fine job back there. Sure would be nice if you guys stuck around awhile,” Pete said to break the deadlock.

  “Thanks, and to be honest with you, I have been considering it. I don’t know though. I don’t think Kara’s comfortable around here.”

  “Tell her to give it some time. There’s no rush. Hey, Ben’s boy Earl is coming of age tonight. You and Steve have earned a seat . . . we serve beer on special occasions like these.”

  “Beer? You guys still have beer?”

  Pete chuckled. “Not beer like you’re thinkin’ of. We make it out of cane that grows wild here. It has enough sugars to ferment and packs a pretty good punch. The party cranks up after the women and children go to bed. Just us men, and you can watch Earl come of age.”

  “I’ll check with Kara.”

  Pete scowled. “The men will expect you to be there.” Then he turned and walked off, leaving Keith to contemplate his last statement.

  *

  Night came. The villagers gathered in a communal area for a meal of venison and potatoes. The new arrivals sat at a table with two other families and shared stories of home. The conversations remained light and cordial, individual tales of past horrors avoided.

  A bell rang that signaled it was time to clean up and retire for the night. One of the women handed Jill a candle and lit it with a torch. The four ambled back to a vacant cabin in silence, considering all the possibilities of what their decisions might bring.

  Inside, the cabin was only one large room, fifteen feet square. Four sleeping bags awaited alongside a narrow table that had the legs shortened. It was just high enough to sit cross-legged under.

  “I know we’ve been through a lot today, but we need to talk some things over.” Keith used a sleeping bag for a cushion and sat by the table. “The positives are that there are food, shelter, and protection here. The two biggest negatives are the form of government by which this village is run and that Bronson character. The real question is: are we better off here with a group or out in the unknown on our own.”

  “No, the real question is: are we accepted members of this clan or are we deceived prisoners?” Kara said.

  “That sounds paranoid. They’ve given us our guns back, so they must trust us,” Steve offered. “I don’t think we’re prisoners at this point.”

  “What can two guns do against fifty? We can’t fight our way out of here. They’re not taking that big a risk by giving us our guns,” Kara said.

  “There is safety in numbers . . . I feel safer in the village than I did on the run. Except . . . I don’t know about Bronson. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me,” Jill said softly, gazing at the table. Steve gave her a hug and told her not to worry.

  “I have to admit Bronson’s a strange man. He reminds me of a WWF wrestler with his bravado. Have you noticed he has to dominate every conversation? I guess it’s how he feels he must act to maintain authority, ruling through intimidation. He does have some positives. He’s a natural born leader. The battle today was smooth and methodical. These people have learned how to live under this form of government. I think we could too,” Keith said.

  “The woman and children are down for the night and there is a minimum of security because of that party. If we have any doubts about staying, then we need to leave now. It’s our best chance to get far enough away before they discover we’re gone. They may not think we’re worth coming after. But I’m
not sure what to do. Steve, Jill . . . what do you think?” Kara asked.

  “I don’t want to do anything rash. There may be more zombies nearby. I’m okay with giving this experiment some more time,” Steve said. “I’d hate for us to meet up with a pack of those devils like we did today. I have no doubt the outcome would be different.”

  “If Steve thinks that’s best, then so do I,” Jill added.

  Keith watched the indecision on his wife’s face through the flickering candlelight. He would take her side whatever she chose.

  Steve said, “Keith and I are going to the initiation, bond some more with the men. Gain some trust and learn whatever more we can. The beer may loosen their lips. We’ll watch ourselves and if we don’t like what we see, we can leave before sunup.”

  “Yeah, good plan. If they get the big head from the beer, by the time they realize we’re gone they won’t have the legs to go after us,” Keith said.

  “Do you think Jill and I will be safe in the cabin?”

  “You have two shotguns, and the door even has a bolt on it. Don’t let anyone else in but us. I think this is our best plan. Try to get some rest in case you need the energy for the trip.”

  The two men left the cabin and Kara locked the door behind. Keith tested the handle and ensured it was secure.

  Faint strumming of a guitar floated in the air leading the way to the party. Several large fires burned, and gregarious laughter swelled as they approached. The two stopped to take in the ‘entertainment’ prepared for the nights festivities.

  Three wooden posts stood upright in the ground, set ten feet apart. Across, ten feet away, another three posts. Each post had a writhing member of the living dead tied securely.

  The path between the posts led to another zombie, suspended by individual ropes on each wrist and each ankle. It was a female. Her body hung parallel with the ground three feet above it. She rocked back and forth in her struggle to free herself.

  The partiers paid no special attention to the unholy creatures. When Keith and Steve found the courage to join the group, an old man danced up and handed each a cup of beer, tipping his hat playfully as he sidestepped away. The two looked at each other and sniffed the home brew, then took a sip.

  “Not bad,” Keith said, giving Steve a smile of approval.

  “You boys did too much dilly-dallying,” Pete said. “Not much time to catch a buzz before the show.”

  “You know how it is, just making sure the girls are comfortable,” Keith said.

  “What ’cha think? Pretty good stuff, eh?”

  “It does warm the insides,” Steve said, following with a cough.

  “There’s plenty, but you boys need to come on over with me. It’s about to begin.”

  The guitar stopped playing and the merriment morphed to a muffled hush. The men positioned themselves behind the line of upright corpses and lined up side by side with one another.

  Bronson stepped in front of the zombie woman and placed a drum with a deerskin top a few feet away from her head. His move only agitated her more. Drool dripped from her mouth like thick syrup.

  Ben and his son Earl arrived at the head of the path that led to Bronson. Earl’s body was draped in layers of deerskins and strips of leather had been wound thickly around his neck. The boy grasped a machete tightly in his right hand.

  Bronson brought down an open palm with a loud thump on the drum, and repeated the beat four more times. He made a slight nod toward Earl, and said:

  “From the womb!”

  Earl stepped up to the first living corpse and slowly offered his neck to the animated jaws. The beast gnawed at the leather, unable to penetrate. Earl backed away, raised his machete, and chopped off the head at the neck. A cry of approval burst from the crowd. Earl strutted to the opposite side and stood in front of his next test.

  Bronson continued. “To the weaning!”

  Earl again offered his neck to the carnivorous corpse. Its teeth scrapped bits of hide but made no real threat. Passing the test, Earl loped off the head with a wide swing of the machete. The crowd cheered as he moved to the next challenge.

  “Through puberty!”

  Earl repeated the ritual.

  “To life’s meaning!”

  Again.

  “The final stand!”

  Again.

  “To live or die a man!”

  Earl pursed his lips and slowly approached the last one. The head of the zombie strained the ropes as it chomped wildly for a taste of human flesh. Beyond the comfort of many, Earl finally stepped back and laughed loudly. Grasping the machete with both hands, he spilt the zombie’s head into two pieces in a downward swipe, and finished it off with a chop to the throat. The crowd howled in unison, clanking cups, and downing drink.

  Earl unwrapped the strips of leather from around his neck and then pulled off each layer of deerskin until he stood naked.

  The crowd started to chant, “Ride . . . ride . . . ride . . . ride . . .” Earl stepped up behind the last challenge. The undead’s legs were spread apart, her arms held wide by her side.

  Standing between her thighs, he reached down and massaged his penis.

  The crowd continued to chant in slow cadence. “Ride . . . ride . . . ride . . .”

  Earl spat on his hand and rubbed it on to the head of his shaft, and forced it in her.

  Bronson began pounding the drum in rhythm.

  “Ride . . . ride . . . ride . . .”

  The she-devil doubled her efforts to free herself. Earl held on tight as his hips thrust to the beat and the chants. Petrified vocal cords found life as she screamed in frustration. Earl grabbed the back of her hair and pulled tightly. His thrusting rhythm increased and the chants and drums kept in time.

  Keith was unable to tear his focus away from the unimaginable scene. It was unnatural. It was defiling to the human soul. Surprisingly, though, the longer the ritual continued, the more at ease he became with it. This ritual carried a power that he had not felt in some time: complete dominance. It brought a sense of power much stronger than defeating the undead in the woods earlier that day.

  It inspired a hope that the living could prevail against the onslaught of the undead. It went way beyond his shortsighted hope of a life where the daily goal was to eke out survival. The living dead were like any other enemy that man had faced over the course of history. They too could be defeated, not by chance, but by might.

  Earl picked up his machete and placed the sharp edge against her throat, and then sliced deeply as his loins quivered in release. The blade moved though her neck until it bit against spine. Earl jerked the head free and turned around holding it high in one hand and his machete in the other.

  Another explosion of cheers went forth. His dad came to his side and slapped him on the back, and threw a robe over his shoulders.

  Earl was now a man.

  The party started up again. More drink for everyone. Keith and Steve filled their cups and toasted with the rest. Keith had no thoughts of leaving tonight, and wondered briefly how he would go about explaining the rape of a zombie to Kara.

  The bodies of the zombies were cut free and thrown into the roaring fires. Soon enough though, the men started feeling the weight of the day and the alcohol in their systems. The fires eventually died down to hot coals. All but the night watchmen returned to their respective homes.

  “Well, it was different, that’s for sure,” Keith said.

  Steve nodded in agreement. “I don’t think I could make a break for it tonight even if I wanted to now.”

  “Me either. I’m leaning strongly to staying here anyway.”

  “Me too.”

  Kara opened the door at the special knock. She had been unable to sleep. Jill was still snoring.

  “Well, how’d it go?” Kara asked.

  “It’s a . . . it’s a long story. But Steve and I agree that tonight’s not the best time to leave. You should give some serious thought about staying here.”

  “Do you think I haven
’t?”

  “I know, I didn’t mean it that way. Think about staying a week, or a month. We can always pack up and leave when we want to.”

  “I guess you’re right. Let’s get some sleep now.” Kara took Keith by the hand and the two nestled inside the sleeping bags.

  Steve was already lying next to Jill, who snored into the night.

  *

  The morning brought new energy to the two couples. They had awakened in a village thriving with activity. People stirred about preparing for the communal breakfast. Several of the men wore the ill effects of drinking too much beer on their faces. They performed assigned tasks anyway under the disapproving glare of their angry wives.

  The four sat down to a breakfast of oatmeal and canned peaches. Plenty of clean water was available to wash it down.

  “If we’re planning to stay, we’re going to have to start pulling our weight,” Keith said.

  “Agreed. We need to get into the routine so we don’t have to be constantly told what to do. You and I can start with perimeter watch, unless you would rather help with the farming,” Steve said.

  “Jill and I will help with meals. We’ll see how our talents are needed as time goes by,” Kara said.

  “I’ll keep some distance between me and Bronson. There’s something I don’t trust about that man,” Jill said.

  Steve chewed a peach slice and chased it with a swig of water. “Don’t worry about him. Keith and I have already decided that if things get uncomfortable, we’ll pull up stakes and leave. He’s not going to bother you with me around.”

  “You sound so sure. How could you know that?”

  “Because he doesn’t just take what he wants. The others wouldn’t allow it if he tried. These people honor the code. We’ll play by the rules, and there won’t be any problems. Besides, all I need to do is get you pregnant, and he’ll lose eyes for you in no time.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to think like that.”

  “This might just be the place to start a family. I don’t even know if we could consider it if we were trying to make it on our own. There’re at least three nurses and two doctors here, so I’m told.”