Chivalry Is Dead

by Bennie Newsome

I imagine the buses down at the cistern and the queue of zombies slurping from the pipes and it takes a few moments because the conclusion is not only staggering, but so disgusting I feel bile rise:

  Meat milkshake.

  The zombies have made a giant pool of rotted meat soup, right there in the cistern, and have set up a soup kitchen. Instead of ranging around looking for us or weaker zombies, they’ve gone into mass production.

  Freakin’ impossible.

  So startled, disgusted, terrified, whatever, I am that I make too big of a movement and a zombie looks up, roars and points.

  I am a dead man. Soon to be part of the milkshake.

  There are answering roars from the truck line and the soup line and every zombie in America will be pouring up the hillside after me. I jump up, whipping out the sword and brandishing it at the truck-zombies, who all stand in a line pointing and roaring, a lot like Donald Sutherland did in that remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. “You ain’t getting’ me easy!” I yell and swing the sword in a threatening manner while eying the drop off and wondering if I can scramble down, cut one of the zombies out of a truck and drive it back home. Be nice to have a working truck.

  And then the zombies do something extraordinary. They do nothing.

  After a few seconds of pointing and roaring, they get back to work. I blink. Gotta be a trick. But no, they’re downright ignoring me.

  What the hell?

  Now I’m more peeved than anything so I stomp around, being noisy and obvious because I’d like nothing more right now than to cut a few of them down to stumps, but nothing. I go back to the soup line overlook without incident and the whole parade stops and looks at me for just a second or two and then goes back to slurping pipes. One of them actually waves.

  It takes a few moments. I’m not the brightest guy—God giving me fast reactions instead of brains—but, it comes clear and I can’t help it, I start laughing. I laugh for a good five minutes, sheathing the sword and shaking my head and even getting a couple of more friendly waves from the soup line participants.

  I walk back down the hill, not even bothering to hide. The passing zombies all react the same; a roar, a point, and then ignore. I don’t get cautious until I’m back in the suburbs, but I’m not trying to avoid attack now, I’m in ambush mode, something the soup line zombies will appreciate.

  I’m their shepherd.

  Tend to the herd, slaughtering dumb zombies, leaving them piled in wriggling hills of meat for the smart zombies, who’ll shovel them into the back of a truck and dump them in the cistern, a continuous supply of good wholesome meatshakes. And the smart ones leave We Happy Few alone.

  The benefits of symbiosis.

  I hear several footfalls and growls a couple of streets over and unsheathe. Time to do my part.

  .

  Michael J. Evans is proof that not all zombies are mindless mounds of decomposing flesh. A native New Yorker who recently relocated to the Boston area, he spent 13 years of his life in Medical Publishing, where he literally died from boredom. He recently made his publishing debut in First Time Dead Volume 1. Currently, he is revising his first novel manuscript, tentatively titled Ursa Major, and writing his second as yet untitled novel. When he is not writing, he enjoys watching horror movies, reading, and shambling around the neighborhood devouring the most annoying of his neighbors. He can be found on Twitter, @DarkWoofer; on facebook; and at Woofer’s Lair, http://wooferslair.blogspot.com. And for the record, he does not believe chivalry is dead.

  Welcome Creepers, Crawlers, and the newly infected. Michael J. Evans returns after his debut story, Forgive Me, Father, For I Have...Burp in the First Time Dead Volume 1 an-thology, with a brand new tale of woe.

  The outbreak swept through the community leaving broken families and aching hearts in its wake. Acts committed out of desperation haunt the scattered survivors. Two such people cling to each other seeking comfort as their hopeful gazes sweep the remnants of their once peaceful town. They look beyond the burned out husks of beloved homes and children’s playthings strewn around properties that have seen better days. They yearn for a connection with others who made it. For surely, there must be others.

  Their fine laid plans are about to be shattered, as all the best laid plans are prone to be. Alex Summers and his companion, Eve, must now confront a mutation in their apocalyptic wasteland. Something they didn’t see coming. Something they are completely unprepared for. Can they survive what’s coming for them?

  Without further delay, I give you...Mutation.

  Mutation

  By: Michael J. Evans

  The television screen was alive with snow.

  That meant the station had signed off.

  That meant that Pete Jardine had checked out.

  Dead.

  Like so many others.

  Maybe. More than likely.

  Alex Summers stood in front of the flickering screen for about fifteen minutes, waiting…hoping…after which he reached out and turned off the television. It was the second hardest thing he had ever had to do in his life. The first had been putting a bullet through his mother’s head. It hadn’t been his mother at the time, had only looked like her, but still… That had been five years ago, one year after the outbreak. He had been fifteen at the time. After that, he’d grown up fast.

  He crossed to the window and pulled back the heavy green curtain. Sunlight slipped in, chasing the shadows to the farthest corners of the room. Now if only it would chase the shadows from his mind. He didn’t know why Pete’s absence hit him so hard. He didn’t know the man. Hell, he’d never even met him; the man was just a face on the television. So why did he feel like he had just lost his best friend? After turning it over in his head, he realized it was more than that. Losing Pete was losing contact with the outside world. The man had never said where he was broadcasting from, but it had to be someplace nearby because he was using a local access channel. Ever since Alex had first stumbled across the man’s broadcast eight months ago, he had felt like he had become reconnected to the outside world. Granted, Pete never claimed to be The Official Word on what was going on beyond Alex’s isolated corner of the world, but at least it was something, and a smidgen of information was better than none at all. The man had promised his listeners that as long as he could, he would be on everyday at the same time. He had been true to his word, and in the time Alex had been tuning in, the man had never missed or been late with a broadcast. Until today.

  Alex fumbled with the pack of cigarettes on the table next to the window, finally succeeding in shaking one from the pack. Aside from the smokes, the only other items on the table were an ashtray and a pair of binoculars. Slipping the cancer stick between his lips, he surveyed the yard in front of the house. From his aerial view, it appeared that none of the traps had been set off. He gaze shifted further out, taking in the grounds he had cleared over the past year. Nothing moved. Nothing. Which set off the alarms in his head. Normally he would have seen birds pecking at the grass looking for insects and worms, but this morning there was nothing. That meant they were in the area. He picked up the binoculars, raised them to his eyes, and studied the tree line about a half a mile away. Moving from left to right he was watchful for any movement within the trees, but there was nothing. Not even the leaves moved on this hot July morning.

  Behind him, the door to the room opened, and then closed. He put the binoculars back on the table, reached into his pocket for his lighter. He flicked the flame to life and lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply.

  “What did Pete have to say this morning?” she asked. Her voice was still rough with sleep.

  He blew out the smoke, turned and looked at her through the swirling haze.

  “What?”

  He remained silent, shaking his head, giving her all the answer she needed. She came to him and he slipped his arm around her, held her while they both stared out the window. The only movement came from him, taking an occasional drag from the cigarette. Finally, she looked up at hi
m. “Supplies are running low. We’re going to have to make a run.”

  “I know.” He didn’t look at her, just continued to stare out the window.

  She could see that he was troubled. “What is it?” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Is it Pete?”

  He shook his head. “Listen.”

  She cocked her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly.”

  She stiffened in his arms, dropped her gaze to stare out the window again. “Where?”

  “I don’t know. But they’re out there. Somewhere.”

  She twisted free of his arms and started for the door, eager to keep the nightmare at bay, desperate to hold onto the illusion of normalcy they had created here. “I’ll make coffee. Coming?”

  He stubbed out his cigarette. “In a minute.” He allowed the curtain to fall closed. The shadows rushed back, stopping abruptly, like animals pulled up short at the end of their leashes. He turned and watched her go, smiling a sad smile. She, too, had been forced to grow up fast.

  Her name was Eve, short for Evelyn she had told him when he had found her six months ago, and she was only sixteen. She had lost her father in an ambush three weeks before they’d met, and she had put a bullet between his eyes to keep him from coming back. Two months before that, she had lost her mother. The woman had gone on a food run, foraging in a local supermarket for whatever she could salvage. Most of the stores had been stripped clean, but if you were lucky you could still find some canned food. It was about the only thing that was safe, provided you cooked it long enough to kill the bacteria. She had been gone all day and all night. It had been well into the next day when she had come back, and when she had, she’d been operating on a homing instinct (they tended to do that, he’d noticed). Her stomach had been ripped open, the intestines hanging unheeded, and there had been a chunk taken out of her throat. After that, it seemed her father had given up. She had noticed his reflexes getting slower, more sluggish. It was as if he had lost the strength to fight after having lost his wife. The girl who had depended on him for survival for the past six years no longer seemed to matter. He had gotten careless, and he had ended up paying for it.

  Eve was a fighter, and fully able to defend herself if need be. Alex had witnessed that first hand, but during the quiet times, she wanted to regress, to become the girl she hadn’t been allowed to be for so long. It was most evident at night when she lay curled in his arms, sleeping.

  He would stay awake and watch her. She was so innocent when she slept, and although she had offered her body to him, it was that innocence that kept him from taking her up on her offer. She was only sixteen, and even though the laws had gone to hell with the rest of the world, he would not allow himself to make love to her. Let her hold onto her innocence for as long as possible.

  He lit another cigarette and smoked it before going down for coffee.

  * * *

  On the five-mile drive into town, they passed burnt-out husks of houses, evidence of the purge that was necessary to cleanse the area of those stricken. The windows were down and the warm summer wind ruffled their hair. There was the ever-present smell of rot in the air, the scent of meat left too long out in the sun. It had stained the air, outside as well as in, so you never really knew if they were in the area or if it was an echo of past presence. Alex was behind the wheel, Eve rode passenger, the barrel of the rifle resting at the ready through the open window.

  They hit the center of town without seeing a single reanimated corpse. Normally Alex would have taken that as a good sign; it meant they were dealing with an isolated incident, but the absence of wildlife continued to nag at him. The birds had vanished, as had the squirrels and rabbits that had become abundant with the dwindling population. The world had gone silent with the exception of the occasional whispering of the leaves in the breeze; it was unnerving. Was it possible that the zombies were evolving after all this time, gaining intelligence? Were they becoming stealthier in their search for flesh, actually becoming hunters? He wanted to share his thoughts with Eve, have her provide her take on the situation, but he decided to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being, choosing to wait until he had some hard evidence before sharing them with Eve. He knew not sharing was dangerous, but he didn’t want to scare her.

  He slowed as they passed through the center of town, cruising by the large parking lot of the Super Wal-Mart. There were fifty or sixty cars in the lot, some of which had been turned on their sides, their windows broken and the pavement stained with blood. When the outbreak occurred, people, not realizing the strength the shambling corpses possessed, took refuge in their cars, but the dead had flipped them like they were toys, shattering the windshields and windows and pulling the refugees from their shelters. If what he was thinking turned out to be true, they would have to move those cars. There were too many hiding places where the living dead could wait and ambush them. He’d give it a few days, though, before making any decisions. If the wildlife didn’t return, they’d have to move on anyway. They could only live so long on what they scavenged and the virus or whatever it was that was bringing the dead back to life had not affected the animals at all. They survived on the fish, the occasional deer, and the rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, and opossums.

  They continued east, moving away from the commercial strip and into what had once been a residential area. Bikes, dolls, and an assortment of other children’s toys lay abandoned in the yards, evidence of happier times when the living ruled the earth. About a half of a mile out, he turned into a driveway and they got out of the car.

  Before approaching the house, he gave Eve a barely perceptible nod, indicating she should go ahead and check the backyard. She nodded back and silently slipped around the side of the house. Until they were certain the area was clear, they would not speak. Once she had disappeared around the far corner of the house, he performed a slow scan of the immediate surroundings, watchful for any movement in the yards and the neighboring houses. He had yet to come across any survivors since settling on the outskirts north of town, but he had come across quite a few zombies trapped in some of the houses. He found it hard to believe they were the only ones living in the area. There had to be others. That was another reason they did a house-by-house search; besides scavenging for food, they were hoping to find other survivors.

  He fumbled in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. He fished one from the pack, all the while scanning the deserted street and tree-shadowed yards, and placed it between his lips. He fumbled in his jeans pocket for his lighter, lit the cigarette and turned, prepared to mount the steps to the porch when he caught movement to his right. With lightning quick reflexes, he reached behind his back and drew the .45 he had wedged into the waistband of his jeans. He flipped the safety as he brought the gun around, but before he could train it in the direction of the flickering shadow, Eve stepped into view. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and looked at her questioningly.

  Once she was at his side, she whispered, “The back door is locked. There is something in the house, though.” He looked at her and with his eyes told her to continue. “In the basement… the lights are out, but I saw something move.”

  They turned, and together they climbed the steps to the porch. Alex braced himself against the porch railing, .45 trained on the door. Eve stepped up to the door and gripped the doorknob. She glanced over her shoulder and Alex gave a single nod. She twisted the doorknob, prepared to jump out of the way once the door swung open, but it was locked. It was a good sign. Locked doors meant somebody was trying to keep something out.

  Alex moved to the window. Cupping his hands to cut the glare, he peered into the room beyond. It was a well-maintained living room, and off to the side, through an open doorway, he could make out a hallway than ran towards the back of the house and a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor. Nothing moved. He tried the window, but that too was locked. He sidestepped and tried the other window with the same results. He looked to Eve, the
n towards the porch roof, and she nodded. He climbed up on the porch railing. She shouldered the rifle and allowed herself to be pulled up.

  “If you can get in, go straight down and open the door.” She nodded. Shoving the .45 in his waistband, he steadied himself on the railing and clasped his hands together. She braced herself against his shoulders then stepped into his cupped hands.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  “Ready.”

  He boosted her up. She grabbed hold of the roof and, while he continued to lift, she was able to work her way onto the tiled surface. “Remember…straight down.”

  She disappeared from view, and from the sounds overhead he was able to track her progress. He heard her make her way back to the roof’s edge. “I’m in.” She was gone again and he moved to the door and waited.

  It was strange being separated, no matter how short the time. He knew she could take care of herself, but every time they did something like this, he always had the feeling he would never see her again. The seconds ticked by. “C’mon,” he muttered, “what’s taking so long?” He heard the click of the lock disengaging and the door swung open. “Anything?” he asked when she stepped outside.

  “It looks clean,” she said, which meant there was no sign of a fight having taken place within. There was no blood on the walls or floor. No bodies. Taking the lead, he moved passed her and entered the house.

  Standing just inside the front door, the stairs directly in front of him, the first thing he noticed was the smell. It might have been nothing more than the outside air fouling the air within through the central air units, but it might very well be something else, something potentially dangerous. It was faint, but stronger than it should have been given the way the house had been locked up. They would need to proceed with caution.

  He took a couple of steps forward, aware of Eve following close behind. The hallway continued on, leading to an archway that opened into the kitchen. The right wall stopped well short of the archway, which meant there was an alcove shy of the kitchen, and probably a door under the stairs leading to the basement. They would check that out later. To either side, double-wide doorways opened into the rooms beyond. To their right was the dining room, to their left the living room. Beside each doorway were light switches. Although he knew it would be pointless, he tried the lights with the expected results. Thankfully, there was enough light coming in through the windows to see by. They moved to the left, walking slowly in case something should jump out from behind the sofa or armchairs. Alex noticed that a thin layer of dust covered the surfaces of the end tables and coffee table. Other than that, everything appeared to be in order. They returned to the hallway and made their way to the back of the house.