Tales of the Zombie Apocalypse (Issue #2 | September 2015) (7 page)

Something smacked him on the shoulder.

It was the blonde cheerleader, or what was left of her. Blood flowed with that unnatural steadiness from the edges of the skin around where her lips had been; vomit gushed from between her bare teeth. Her dead eyes stared upward with a look of hopeless anguish. She toppled forward, stiffly, like a doll or a completely dead body, as Ray stepped back.

Behind where the blonde had stood, her date licked the blood from his face and, catching Ray's eye, thumbed his nose.

"Na-na-na-
na
-na!
You
can't
catch
me!
She's
gonna be a
zom
-bie! And so are about fifty more of the stupid kids in..."

"You can't
run
," Bob observed, as the slayers overtook the football boy and hacked him up almost methodically.

"Me!" the blonde squealed at Ray's elbow. "Let me!" Weaving from side to side on her feet, she grabbed at the axe.

"No," Ray said, holding on to the ax, and sinking it into the girl's skull.

This morning, he thought, he'd been a civilized and reasonable man. A doctor. A man who kept people alive. Now he was mutilating the body of a wounded half-grown girl. He watched, as if in slow motion, his hands swinging the axe, smashing the little blonde's fingers. She had had perfect cheekbones, he thought, splitting one of them with the axe.

The other girl was walking into the well-lit Quad, where old Mr. Harris was now shuffling back toward his home, with his dog. And the zombie stench blew toward them on the breeze as a big man shuffled from between some buildings into the Quad...and the dog bolted...and the man grabbed the girl, and Mr. Harris shuffled just a little bit faster and brought his stick down on the man's arm.

The girl ran as if she meant it at last. Alarms rang. Students swarmed out of buildings. Police radios crackled. Before the Quad filled up with the crowd, Ray saw the big man crouching on the ground, lowering his head toward Mr. Harris.

"It will get worse before it gets better," he said in the car. "Will it ever get better?"

None of them offered an answer.

“Bush Hogging”

Story #8

By

Jessie White

A heavy stench filled the air. Hanging from the high window of a converted van, affectionately named the Bush Hog, Max pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The smell was so rank he could even taste it. Looking down into the van at the driver, he yelled, “Cole, there’s a horde up ahead!” It was more than just a warning. It was a promise of a fight over the next hill and Max could feel the excitement start racing through his blood even as a loud yell rung out from the back of the Bush Hog. Chuckling, Max slapped his hand on the roof to hurry them along and they tore down the road at breakneck speed and went air born as they topped a hill.

Past the hill a horde of shambling corpses were in full hunt mode. Max gritted his teeth and cocked the makeshift torrent gun. The van turned off the road and headed into the field. There was really only one plan for dealing with a horde like this: Zip around the edges, firing into the mass until the horde either dispersed or the van had to race off in need of refueling. Twisting on the window sill, Max fired off a round of shots into the crowd.

As they rounded the edge of the horde Max heard the rear door snap open and knew that Oric had taken up his position as rear gunman. The plywood shutters on the side of the van popped open, allowing the other two to begin their assault. It was all in a day’s work, but then Max spotted something less common. Near the middle of the horde he saw what had caused the incoherent convergence. Max spotted several people standing high above the zombies. Dropping his head down, Max shouted over the gunfire. “There’s a caravan in the middle.”

“Damn. Watch for a clear path in,” Cole said, gripping the wheel and Max felt the sharp increase of speed. Still firing into the straggling outsiders, Max looked for a weak spot. They were halfway around the horde when he found it. It was a steep incline with several corpses trying to reach the caravan above them. Slapping the roof, Max drew Cole’s attention to it.

The sharp turn up the hill sent them straight into the horde and Max dropped down into his seat. Separated from the torrent, Max gripped the shrapnel blaster and fired into the oncoming zombies. Nails and shattered glass tore through rotten flesh, throwing a back splash across the van and into the window. Wiping the gore from his goggles, Max yelled, “We’re heading in!”

He heard the frantic complaints and scrapping metal behind him as Oric and the others adjusted for close up combat. “How many up ahead?” Oric asked, popping his big bald head between the front seats.

“Got two on a roof. Don’t know how many on the ground,” Max answered, firing into the crowd again.

Max heard a loud splat and flinched back when he saw the flattened face of a zombie pressed against the windshield. It was still gnawing and squirming even though a large spray of blood and flesh was the only thing left below its chest. “Strip it,” Cole shouted and Max rushed into action. Grabbing up the chainmail glove that always cluttered the passenger side floor, he geared up and shot his arm out the window.

The zombie’s head twisted when Max grasped at its hair. The scalp ripped from the skull and Max felt the pressure of teeth clamping down on his hand. Thankful for the glove’s protection and Max dug his fingers into the creature’s mouth. Tossing the zombie off the windshield, he felt hot liquid gush through the small gaps in the glove.

“Almost there,” Cole announced and Max heard the side door slide open. Tightening his hold on the shrapnel gun, Max turned and prepared to jump out. Blood shot up over the front of the van as Cole smashed through a crowd of zombies gathered on one side of the rusted school bus. When the van stopped, Max shoved his door open and dropped down to the ground. A sharp twinge of pain shot up his back as he positioned the wide barrel of the gun through the window and watched as zombies began to crowd back in.

Behind him Oric reached up to the two people on top of the bus. “Get down here, now!” Shots rang out as the two scrambled down. Max shot a glance over his shoulder at the two. Both were young, no older than twenty. The boy handed down the girl first and then dropped down after her. Max looked back forward just in time to fire off a round at a sneaky one trying to crawl past the wheel.

The side door slammed shut and Oric called, “Clear!” In a heartbeat Max was back in the seat and the Bush Hog was rolling again. The path they cut out of the horde was no less crowded than the one they had cut in.

Once they were clear of the madness Max looked back at the two survivors huddled together. “Where to?”

The boy looked up, eyes wide with fear. “We were heading for Refuge. The compound past the old farm.”

“You heard him, Cole,” Oric said. “How many were in the bus?”

The kid was still shaking when he looked at the boss. He swallowed and answered, “Seven. We were taking a short cut and a tire blew. They came out of nowhere.”

Oric reached over and clamped a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder. “They do that, son. We’ll have you in Refuge in no time.”

Wooden shutters dropped back into place and Max heard Mark let out a “Hell Yeah” and Jo let out a groan. Oric and Cole were their usual quiet and reserved selves after an encounter. After nearly a year as a team, Max had grown accustomed to the after party atmosphere. They were comfortable in the routine, unlike the first few months together. They’d been a mess trying to make a dent in the zombie hordes and a terror to the compounds they resupplied in. Then their fearless leader had stepped up with a no bull crap attitude and whipped them into shape. That’s what had earned him the title. Now they were a well-oiled machine in combat. Wild nights still happened, but nothing Oric couldn’t smooth over or put an end to.

The only reason Max road shotgun was because Oric was horrid with directions. Oric would have led them in a circle straight back to the clearing, but Max was able to get them there in just ten minutes. They road up to a high wall made up of scrap metal and the left overs of an old tractor. “This looks like the place,” Max said over his shoulder.

Oric was the one to get out and talk to the old man standing at the top of the wall. He negotiated their way in and before long they were rolling into the fortified compound.

Max and the others unloaded. The kids clambered out and were quickly handed off to one of the locals. The grey headed man that had allowed their entrance emerged from the gathering crowd with a broad smile on his face. “Welcome to Refuge,” the man said, reaching his hand out to Oric.

“I’m Oric. We’ll be out of here tomorrow,” their leader said, grasping the man’s hand in a tight handshake.

The mayor looked at them all and then said, “I’m the Mayor of this community, Ralph Goodall, and there’s no need to rush off.”

With a shake of his head, Oric said, “Thanks, Mayor, but we’ve got places to be. We’re just pushing through to Wicked Hills.”

“We’ve got a supply cache needing to get to Wicked Hills. Interested in a job along the way?”

The boss never could turn down the opportunity to negotiate a job. Still holding onto the mayor’s hand Oric said, “Transporting supplies is easy enough. Just aren’t looking for travelers.”

The old man looked thoughtful for a second, but finally nodded. “I’ll trust you not to run off with it.”

Oric flashed his signature cocky smile. “Then we’ve got a deal. It’ll be standard pay, supplies for services,” Oric said. Another brisk shake and nod from the mayor and the deal was done.

The mention of Wicked Hills sent a jolt of hope through Max. It reminded him that this was his last stop before reaching the sea side compound. His tour of duty was almost over and then it was nothing but farming and fishing for him. Beyond there Jo or Mark could take over navigation and Max could finally try to plant roots.

Breaking down and checking over the Bush Hog’s gear, Max thought back over the last seven years. The start had been the roughest. Zombies literally popped up from nowhere. There had been no official explanation, but he had heard lots of theories, from the Biblical Rapture to a genetically altered form of rabies. Whatever the reason the world had been shell shocked. Within a year most people were either locked into compounds or looking for work traveling between.

Max had taken up with a team that ran supplies, but after a few years and too many encounters the team fizzled. After that he hopped from team to team, compound to compound. Then Oric and Cole had shown up and taken him in. Shortly after Mark and Jo joined and over the past three years they had become family. But it was time for Max to stop. With too much of a twinge in his back and knees that went weak at the wrong time, he had become a liability. No one had said anything, but he noticed it and that meant it was time to retire.

He was just getting the torrent reattached when Oric showed up. “Evening, Max.”

“Evening, Boss. What can I do for you?” Max asked, dropping down from the van’s sidestep.

Oric leaned back against the side of the modified van and shook his head. “Thought you should come on in. The others are about to finish off the local mead selection.”

“Mead?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Apparently they make it themselves.” Oric let out a chuckle before taking a big swig from his own cup. “Besides, you’re just a day away from retiring. Let’s make the most of it.” Bowing his head, Max let out a little laugh and nodded. A night with the team sounded like a great idea. Strolling into the rundown bar, Max was welcomed by the drunken shouts of his friends.

As it turned out, the mead was pretty good. By the time Max had passed out on his bench he’d already lost a few hours of laughter and stories, and when he managed to crack his eyes open the next morning the headache wasn’t as bad as it was with some of the other homemade concoctions he’d tried. Scratching his head, Max made his way out to the Bush Hog. Two large crates were being tied down to the top and he let out a groan. The Hog was hard against the wind anyway and adding the extra weight and mass was going to slow it down more.

“Tie ‘em down secure. I don’t want one to fall off if we have to haul ass,” Oric ordered, tugging on the black strap holding the supplies in place.

With a few adjustments to the straps and everyone loaded in, they were off. Looking back in the mirror, he watched the wall disappear and started watching for the next one to appear. “You ready for Wicked Falls, Max?” Jo asked from the back.

Turning in his seat, Max smiled back at her. “I’m so ready I’m gonna leave a trail of dust the second my feet touch down.”

“Well, just a half day of hard driving and we’ll be rolling through the gate,” Oric announced, leaning forward to pat Max’s shoulder. “Until then, let’s try to avoid any road songs.” The deep laugh that rumbled through his chest and burst out was a comfortable one. It was echoed by the rest of the team and Max found himself smiling most of the way to Wicked Falls.

They were an hour away when the trouble started. A large crumbling overpass stood between them and the rest of the broken highway. To either side were gullies filled with flimsy pine trees. Below the overpass the road was clogged with abandoned cars. “Push on through, Cole, and avoid the busted support,” Oric said, inserting himself in the empty space up front.

As the Bush Hog rolled along at a snail’s pace everyone held their breath. Moments like these were the reason teams didn’t always make it back to the compounds. Max could hear the cracking and groaning of the bridge under them. The giant wheels of the Hog didn’t even make it halfway across before the last supports broke loose and Max’s world tilted as they dropped.

The van rolled onto its side, slamming into the road below with a loud thud. Max was thrown against the door and he could hear the others being tossed around in the back. Thankfully Cole was buckled in and didn’t come crashing into him. “Damnit, what the hell!” Oric exclaimed from the back.

“Bridge went out,” Cole said.

“Noticed,” Max said, climbing up from his seat. Jo and Mark shoved open the wooden shutters to let light flood into the back. Through the shattered windshield Max could see the shambling corpses already making their way out of the trees and from under cars. “We’ve got a horde forming, Oric.”

Oric’s head popped up and he let out a curse. “Alright, gear up. Can you reach the torrent?”

Max kicked at the windshield and crawled out. The torrent lay twisted and torn yards away. “It’s no good.” Max looked around and saw the zombies starting to merge into a groaning horde. Scrambling back into the Bush Hog, he said, “We need to move faster.”