Tales of the Zombie Apocalypse (Issue #1 | August 2015) Page 3

  After a few minutes of sitting in silence and sharpening the blades, Lucy broke the silence.

  “Someday we'll get out of this house, Phoe, and then we won't have to put up with how they treat you. It's not your fault you're different, you know, and I'd love you with three eyes, or four ears, or six heads.” Lucy had been the only person to go along with my request to be called by my middle name, Phoenix, although she often shortened it to Phoe.

  “I wish I could escape this place now, Luz. Get as far away from Mum and Dad as possible Just three more years 'til you're eighteen and we can go to New York. You'll be a famous actress and I'll write screenplays and novels, and we'll never talk to those jerk-holes again. If only...,” I whispered with a forced smile.

  “Yeah, it will be great. Then they'll realize how terrible they've been to you and they'll try to come crawling back. But we won't let them, we'll be on our own. We'll be free.”

  “They'll never feel sorry, Lucy. Never. But it'll be ok, we don't need 'em. Hey, you remember everything I taught you about using those knives, right?”

  “Of course!” Lucy exclaimed, “I sometimes practice when you're at work or in class. I come down here when Mum and Daddy are fighting, I can't stand it.”

  I nodded and smiled the first real smile I'd felt in weeks. “You're really something special, Luz. I hope I'm always your best friend, but someday you might grow into someone else and you might not want to be around me so much. I want you to take that knife set. Try to carry it with you; I want to know you're safe when you're out there doing your own thing.”

  “Don't talk like that. I'll always be close to you, you're my bestest brother,” she said with a giggle as she sheathed the knives she'd been sharpening and held them against her chest.

  “Thanks, Phoe, I'll take good care of these. Good night!” Lucy cradled the knife set with one arm and started toward the door, then doubled back and kissed my forehead lightly beside the aberrant eye and said, “I love you, big brother.”

  “Love you too, sis.”

  The next morning I woke up and couldn't open my eyes more than a squint. My head was pounding and there was an unceasing ring in my ears. My third eye often opened and shut while I slept, a condition I'd had since infancy that often caused migraines in the morning.

  I squinted at the alarm clock next to the bed. 9:30. Hoping my parents had already left for their trip to Greece, I slowly opened my bedroom door and crept up the steps to the main part of the house, skipping the third which creaked loudly, and pausing to listen on the final step. Silence, just as I'd hoped. Losing my cautiousness, I grabbed an energy drink from the fridge and returned to my basement quarters. I flipped on the television to watch the morning news as I usually did, and hung my mouth open as I watched the broadcast unfold.

  The screen was split into four sections, each showing a different school. Scrolling text on the bottom of the screen read “Simultaneous School Shootings: Area schools currently on lock-down due to shooting crisis. Authorities are seizing control, do not attempt to pick up your children at this time.”

  Looking at the schools displayed, my stomach dropped into my balls. Lucy's high school was shown. Students, teachers, and police officers were running around frantically, screaming, and you could hear gun shots firing periodically. I knew instantly that something was not right; the images on the screen did not correlate to the text that accompanied them.

  School shooters were often the ones carrying guns in situations like these, but none of the civilians on screen had any weapons. Officers were firing as students and faculty alike shambled toward them and their peers, arms outstretched. Some of their faces dripped blood, some had missing limbs, and some had gaping flesh wounds they did not even attempt to cover or stop from bleeding.

  School shootings usually did not involve people eating one another, yet that's exactly what I witnessed as I glanced at one of the other four schools displayed on the television screen. A child that couldn't have been older than seven shambled up to a teacher who was attempting to help the other children and took a large chomp right out of her knee. The day I had spent countless hours preparing for, and had been dreading since I first saw “Night of the Living Dead” at age eight, was finally upon us. I knew without question that the zombie apocalypse had begun.

  After gaping at the screen for a couple minutes unable to believe what my eyes were seeing, I sprung into action. I had been preparing for this very moment for eleven years, and I was more than ready.

  Bolting back down my staircase, I flew around the room picking up all the items I had set aside specifically for this event. I threw onto the bed my large “book-it bag”, a backpack I'd filled with water bottles, matches, packaged foods with expiration dates far in the future, and other things I'd believed would be useful. I threw on some cargo pants, steel-toe leather boots over double-socks, a utility belt with a sheath for my machete, and my favorite worn-out black hoodie over the Ramones t-shirt I was already wearing. I slipped my trusty machete into its place, grabbed the keys to my Subaru Forester, and jetted back up the stairs.

  I sprinted through the house to the kitchen where there was a door to the three-car garage, and I stopped abruptly. The door stood ajar, the dim light from the overhead lamp shining through a gap just large enough to fit a head inside. A pale hand lay on the ground twitching erratically, the veins dark and bulging.

  My first thought was to run over and fling the door open to witness what was happening on the other side, but I stopped myself and took a deep breath as silently as I could manage. Unsheathing the machete slowly, I tiptoed toward the door and peered around it so that just my third eye was in the gap. What it saw made me feel like all the blood had been drained from my body. The twitching hand was connected to my father's finely suited torso, which was soaked in blood and ripped open from his navel to his ribs.

  My mother sat next to the torso, reaching into its gigantic wound and pulling out chunks of flesh, then shakily shoving the chunks into her mouth. My extra eye scanned as far as it could see to locate the other parts of my father's body, but to no avail. All I could see beyond my mother's morbid meal was pools of crimson liquid. I pulled my head back from the door and felt my head start to spin. I grasped the corner of a kitchen counter and tasted copper. Swallowing too hard to keep myself from puking, I gasped and immediately wished I hadn't.

  A low guttural moan came from behind the door and I knew at that moment she was coming for me, and I had to stop her by any means necessary. The door creaked open slowly until finally I could see the figure of my mother standing there covered tip-to-toe in blood and eyes that stared vacantly.

  “M-mother...?” came a faint voice from my mouth, although I did not feel like I was saying it.

  She lunged, teeth bared viciously, and I dodged her blood-crusted claws by a hair. Getting my footing, I swung my machete toward her throat as hard as I could manage. The machete became stuck about three-quarters of the way through her neck and I had to saw at it a bit to get all the way through, but I had done the job. Mother's lifeless head toppled from her body as she crashed to the floor.

  Not able to hold it any longer, I let my stomach's contents erupt from my mouth and all over the kitchen floor. I wiped the sick from my lips and leaped over the pile of corpses that now lay in the doorway. Glancing around the garage and hoping not to encounter any more flesh-eaters, I pushed away the thought that maybe I wasn't as prepared as I'd believed myself to be. While I didn't see anyone lurking, I kept my machete ready. The furthest of the three garage doors was raised about two feet. Anyone could be in here, I thought and swallowed the fear-bubble rising up my esophagus.

  With all the stealth I could muster I inched toward my car, the furthest from the kitchen door. The driver's door on my father's Hummer was open very slightly, just enough so that the inside light stayed on. While I had ridiculed his choice in vehicle before, I realized that a Hummer might serve me better at a time like this, so I crept to the window hoping the keys wo
uld be in the ignition. In addition to the keys being right where I'd hoped they would, there was a Taurus Judge revolver lying in the passenger seat.

  Just then I felt cold fingers wrap around my arm and blunt teeth ripping through my hoodie and into my skin. I let out a scream and shoved the biter away from my body as it ripped its large bite of flesh from my forearm. The zombie fell to the floor and I recognized it as Geoffrey, who in his living days had served in our home as a chef. It was not long before the hungry corpse started again toward me, so I flung open the door to the Hummer, jumped inside, and slammed the door behind me. I picked up the revolver and pointed it inside my mouth, before I heard a whimper from the back seat.

  “Phoe? Oh, thank God!” Lucy cried and wrapped her arms around me as best she could from over the seat.

  “Lucy! I'm... I'm glad to see you're alive,” I replied, startled.

  “You can't shoot yourself now! You can't leave me alone here with these – these things! I'll never make it without you,” she said, tears forming rivers down her cheeks.

  “You're right, Luz. I can't leave you alone with them. I have to save you from what I'm about to become. I always said I'd save you,” I mumbled and pointed the revolver where her nose met her forehead..

  “No! Otto, plea-” was all she could shout before I pulled the trigger and her thick, warm brains splattered all over the leather interior. I curled myself up and began to weep uncontrollably. Between sobs, I kept choking, “I saved her. I saved her.” Feeling the malicious venom from my bite wound spreading not only up my arm, but down my chest and up my neck, I knew I had kept Lucy from a far worse fate. If I'd turned while she lived, I would have eaten her. Now she'd never know the terror of being consumed alive by her own brother. I saved her.

  I cocked the hammer on the revolver and pointed it straight into my third eye. Staring down the barrel, I pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing.

  “FUCK!” I roared.

  Looking out the vehicle windows, I could see that the garage had amassed many more flesh-hungry zombies in the last few minutes. I couldn't leave the Hummer without being further mutilated, and even if I did I wouldn't get very far before the quick venom took over. I reclined the driver's seat and laid back, waiting and shedding my last tears. Shortly I would be consumed by the one thing I'd feared the most, the thing I'd spent most of my life trying to prepare myself to fight, but at least I had saved her. I had saved Lucy, and that was all that mattered.

  “Zombie Apocalypse: The Generations Suffer”

  Story #4

  By

  H.K. Sutherland

  “Oh! My God! Help me! It’s Tony! The children…get them…hurry!” Diane, struggling to grab at least one child near her, pleaded for help. Children were scattering to every corner of the playground. Some looked back crying uncontrollably as they ran. Others just ran blindly away. Two stood and stared. Little Tony was lying contorted in the playground sand; his chest ripped open and bleeding as the creature’s jaws sunk viciously into his soft flesh. His baby face was bloody; his eyes stared open-eyed, skyward, and lifeless. He had screamed in pain at first, as his blood spurted out, but died horribly as it fed on him.

  Diane picked up one child and ran toward the closest preschool room. “Take her!” She screamed as she pushed the girl into Miss Amy’s arms. She could hear the other children desperately calling out for their teachers.

  Miss Karen was running diagonally across the playground toward a group cowering under the slide. She commanded the children to come to her as she ran toward them. The little ones scrambled toward her, except for Brian, who was vomiting in fear.

  As the children reached her, Karen pointed them toward the classroom door and the little ducklings ran past her. She headed straight for Brian, scooped him up in her arms, turned and ran for the doorway. She handed him off to Miss Amy as Miss Sue headed out to gather up the two children who were still staring in shock.

  Diane saw that Tony was beyond help. The creature was chewing on his head. Bits of brains and blood were oozing onto the playground sand. She ran to round up stragglers hiding by the swings and two that had run into the playhouse. She grabbed little Angie by the arm and yelled for the others to follow. They ran through the open door and huddled together.

  Miss Sue had the two in her arms and three more following her as they made it past the doorway. Diane scooped them in from behind and turned to shut the door. Quickly counting heads, she tallied 23 in the room. “All here…except Tony.” She looked out the window and saw two more creatures moving up the country road toward the preschool.

  The four preschool teachers looked at each other in disbelief. What was happening? What had killed Tony? Diane knew they needed to settle the children. She started to move them away from the windows into the center of the room, and Karen helped her. They had them all sit together on the floor. The two women helped each other to push classroom furniture in front of the door and windows.

  Sue immediately went to the phone on the wall and dialed 911. Amy turned and visually checked the room for anything that they could use as weapons.

  Diane looked at their precious faces and wondered what she could say next that would help. She was terrified. All she knew for certain was that there were horrible creatures outside and she would need to protect her students at all cost. The fragile faces looking at her were streaked with tears.

  Diane and Karen quickly moved the children into their classroom groupings. They were together with their friends now. Diane turned to look at the other teachers. Sue was on the phone nodding as she dialed, but Diane saw her fingers shaking. Amy had collected a broom and a kit of handyman tools. She was scowling…it wasn’t much.

  Karen went to take a position near a window and her face told Diane that they were in for more trouble soon. The first creature had finished with Tony and the other two had joined it. When Karen saw that Tony had risen from the dead and joined them she nearly fainted. They were making their way toward the preschool building.

  Diane looked at Sue hopefully. Sue told her that the police were coming and then shook her head. Both women knew that a few parents would also be coming, but it would take too long for them to get to the school. The creatures were moving closer to the classroom every moment.

  Diane took a deep breath. She’d have to make sure the children would stay with their teachers during what would come next. She walked past the children, patting heads and backs to calm them.

  Within seconds, everyone in the classroom could hear shuffling sounds on the playground sand. Banging on the doors and windows started next. The children squealed and Diane shushed them. The banging grew louder and louder. Panic flashed across every tiny face.

  Diane told the children to hold hands, but her thoughts were full of fear. Oh dear God! Send someone soon! Desperate thoughts; just as one of the creatures started breaking through a window. Ugly, grasping arms and slobbering mouth pushed through. What had obviously been a man at one time was a hideous mass of ugly flesh and bone, with eyes that stared without seeing.

  Diane left the huddled group, grabbed a preschool chair with metal legs and using all her might swung it into the monstrosity. Black liquid spurted out the back of its head and its eye balls popped, making white blobs of slime. She smashed and smashed until it literally turned into a mass of unrecognizable ooze. Its bones shattered and flew backward into the playground, so powerful were Diane’s swings. Its skeleton broke into a heap of collapsed legs and angled smashed ribs. It gurgled and hissed, but Diane was determined that it would not reach her children.

  Karen flinched as broken glass erupted from the window she had been manning. She ducked as horrible arms pushed through the jagged glass and a grotesque head jutted into the room. It was muttering and groaning, grasping for her. She pulled a preschool chair from the pile near her, moved to brace herself with feet spread wide and swung the metal legs as hard as she could straight into the face. The chair lodged in the forehead, legs piercing deep holes through, emerging out
the back, and black liquid squirted onto the window behind. She grunted and pushed with all her might, using the chair as leverage. The creature staggered backward, and she pushed again, letting go of the chair. She grabbed another and heaved it at the monster’s chest. The legs entered its ghastly flesh and ripped out chunks as the metal ends poked completely through it. The creature hissed and buckled to the ground.

  The sounds of squealing tires and horns honking filled the room. Someone from town had come to help! Doors slammed and men’s voices shouted. Diane could see them running toward the classroom through the smashed windows. They had their guns aimed at the other creatures outside. She could hear the hissing and gurgling as they incessantly banged and scratched at the building.