Zombie Flash Fiction: Good Eating!

    The end of the world stinks.  When the dead are walking around in the hot Georgia sun with their guts trailing behind them, it's not a good smell.  When you've got to stand guard by an overflowing dumpster and trash compactor and the front of your apartment complex, it doesn't help the situation.

    "What are we going to do with all this trash?" my wife, Karen, asked with her hands on her hips.  "It's not like they'll be collecting it with all the dead around."

   

    "We could burn it?" Larry, the former SWAT Cop suggested.

    "If we burn it," I replied. "We'll just attract the dead."

    "Yeah, but if we pile it up and leave it out we'll attract rats and other vermin." 

    "Yes," Larry said with a gleam in his eye. "And those vermin will be good eating!"

    "Dude," I said shaking my head.

    "That's just gross," Karen said turning away in disgust.

    "Bon Appetit!"

Zombie Postcard Fiction: A Few Short Blocks

Carl Campbell / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)

I lived a few blocks from the subway.  I tried to walk home.  I'm still walking and I don't even know where home is anymore.






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Zombie Postcard Fiction: They will survive!

Roaches. They survived the rise of the dead just fine.  You can't run a vacuum when you're surrounded by zombies.  Nobody takes out the garbage.

User Preiselbeere on de.wikipedia /
CC BY-SA 2.0 DE
(https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/de/deed.en)

Zombie Flash Fiction: Inside The Z Suite

     "So what's our vision?"
     Silence.
     "O.K., Janet, what's our vision?"
     "Well, our vision is to have a flourishing human world with advancing technology and no zombies."
     "Brilliant.  That's very well put."
     "So what's our mission?"
     Silence.
     "Anyone?  How about you Bob?"
     "Sir," Bob said.  "Our mission is to be a self-sufficient human stronghold that sustains itself through agriculture and foraging and that eliminates all zombies in our area of control."
     "Excellent.  I think that is an excellent Mission Statement.  Good job guys.  Good session.  Next time, let's conceptualize our enemy. We'll define zombies."
    Bob looked around the conference room.  He made eye contact with Janet and saw her raise an eyebrow.  He took a deep breath.
    "Sir," Bob said.  "What about weapons, ammunition, food, seeds, and irrigation?"
    "Yes.  Yes.  I guess you'll have to get your people moving on those sorts of minor details and report back to us next week."
    "Any other questions?"
    Silence.
    "Great.  Let's talk about the golf outing!"

Zombie Drabble: The Woman is Strong

     "I don't think I can deal with this," Randy said shaking his head.

     "I know," Mike replied.  "The prospect of being disemboweled makes me shudder."

     "We can't go out there," Randy continued.  "We might die."

     "The dead are so," Mike paused wiping his tears, "grotesque."

     "I'm hot, I'm tired, I'm hungry," Mike continued.  "I'm so thirsty."

     "I'm parched too."

     A slender figure in black emerged from the shadows.  It was Sandra.  She had a shotgun, she racked the slide, and she opened the door.

    "Where are you going?" Randy asked.

    "I’m hungry and I can't wait for you girls forever."

     

Zombie Flash Fiction: Forever Walking

Sleepless.  Tired.  Wired.  Hungry. Parched.  We pressed onward. Just climb the ridge. Just follow the road.  Walking west forever. My shoes were almost worn out.  I hadn’t showered.  I didn’t care.  I didn’t even want to remember eating.  My thoughts were a jumble of memories of the world that used to be.  The news reports of the spreading virus were a fading blur.  Ahead was the army. Soldiers.  Relief.  Shock!  Why shoot at us?

Photo by Rodrigo Fernández / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

Zombie Flash Fiction: Young Love and Zombies

It was the first time, Hunter and Rain had a chance to be alone.  Hunkered down behind a hastily constructed plywood blind, they watched the road.  If they saw a hoard of zombies shuffling towards the neighborhood, they would warn everyone of an attack.  But, they saw only a lone directionless zombie here and there.

After spending so much time gardening, building defenses, and killing the dead, they were both tired.  In other assignments, they had a few chances to exchange glances, smiles, and winks.  Rain knew he wanted to connect with her and she had seen him shirtless on a cleanup detail.  She thought he felt the same way.  He had seen the way he looked at her as she planted seedlings.

At first Hunter didn't say much, but Rain got the conversation started.  In just a few minutes, they were talking easily.  Rain had never felt so connected.  After all they had seen since the end of the world, they both needed to talk.  Soon they touched.  It was electric.  There was a spark.  Soon they were holding hands.  He caressed her cheek.  They kissed.  She had never felt so alive.  Soon they were doing everything young lovers could do.  They did everything except watch for zombies.

Today, Hunter and Rain are still together.  Out there.  Somewhere.  Wandering the world with a ripped bodice and no pants.

Zombie Short Story: Something You Oughta Know

     At a hundred miles an hour, Zeke Patterson felt alive and free.  Now that the dead reigned, he was done with 11 to 7 shifts.  He was done with spending his entire day down in the pit at the oil change place.  Civilization had crumbled and the old rules that held him back were gone.  He didn't have to put up with women who were too stuck up to go out with an oil change mechanic.  In this new world, sex really was free with a rifle.  Zeke grinned from ear to ear.  He had shown those office women a thing or two on his way out of Atlanta.  

   Now, he was on the open highway south of Tifton, Georgia, and the rumble of the old Mustang's V-8 through the glasspack exhaust was music to his ears.  Zeke wished he would have killed his boss and taken this car years ago.  Now, he looked over at the fully tricked out AR-15 rifle on the front seat.  It had a twin drum magazine with 100-rounds ready to go.  His trigger finger was itching.  He patted the rifle with his right hand and wished he could use it again.

Mustang Mach 1 - Photo by Joost J. Bakker from IJmuiden [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)]

     When his eyes returned to the road, he saw a frail looking dead woman in a blue polka dot dress shuffling along in the middle of the highway.  Zeke realized there was no time to use his rifle.  But, at a hundred miles an hour, it didn't matter.  The zombie was obliterated with a slight twitch of his hand at the wheel.

     "Mustang Mach 1, baby, Mustang Mach 1!" he yelled out of his window as the shattered remains of a woman disappeared in his rear view mirror.  Zeke was too far down the road to see the bloody torso of the female zombie continue her crawl towards Valdosta.

     "I am a total bad ass in this world," Zeke yelled to himself throwing an empty liquor bottle out of his window, "A total effing bad ass!"

     As the sun got lower in the sky, he realized that he was hungry.  He needed something to eat and he needed it right now.  These dumbass redneck farmers would feed him or they would pay.  Zeke pointed the yellow and black pony car towards the nearest exit.  They better turn over their daughters, too.

     He roared off the southbound ramp and onto the two lane black top with so much speed that the big muscle car slid across the road and put two tires in the grass of the shoulder when he cranked the wheel hard to the right.  Right lane, wrong lane:  it didn't matter now.  It was his lane.  He floored it and the Mustang left burning rubber and a trail of bouncing rocks behind him.

     Moments later, Zeke spotted an old farm house surrounded by fields and whipped the car into the driveway.  The blood-spattered Mustang made short work of the farm's flimsy front gate and roared to a stop in the driveway beside the old house and in front of the equally ancient detached garage.  From the backyard, an old bearded man perched upon a bucket looked up in disgust from a spot in his little vegetable garden.  Zeke grabbed his rifle, leaped out of the car, and ran into the backyard.  As he approached the garden he noticed a holstered revolver sitting on aluminum cover of  a small brick pump house by the garage.  This old man is slow and dumb, too, Zeke thought to himself.

     "What in the hell are you doing?" the old man asked taking off his dirty gardening gloves.
     "I'm here to take your food and anything else your farm has to offer,"  Zeke replied training his AR-15 on the old man's chest.
     "Well, my name is Jeb and, seeing as you just broke down my front gate, I'm not offering you much."
     "Old man, I'm here to take what I want and what I can use.  I make the rules now."
     "Since when?"
     "Since I'm the one with an AR-15 and 100 rounds of 5.56 millimeter pointed at you, I'm making the rules as of now."
     "You've got a hundred rounds in that thing?"
     "That's right! One hundred bullets to tear you apart and let your body rot in this little garden old man."
     "Alright," the old man said as he rubbed his furrowed brow.  "But, there's something you oughta know."
     "What's that you old coot?"

     The white haired man removed his well-worn Georgia Bulldogs ball cap and set it in the lap of his work pants.  Zeke involuntarily took a step to the side as a bullet tore through his left side, ripped through his heart, blew apart his back bone, exited his right side, ricocheted off his arm, and buried itself somewhere out in the peanut crop.  Then, as the crack of the shot echoed off the garage,  the younger man collapsed with a look of complete shock.

      With no satisfaction, the old farmer slowly got up from his bucket.  He looked up at his wife who was standing in the back window of their farm home and nodded.  Then he looked down at the fading outlaw.

     "It only takes one bullet to kill a man."
   

30-30 Winchester Round - Photo by Hmaag [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)]

[For the next Chronicle of Jeb story, read "The Road Trip - Part 1" For more background on Jeb, read my flash fiction story:  "Waiting."]

Dear Jesus - A Zombie Apocalypse Short Story

Dear Lord, Dear God Almighty!

I am truly screwed. You must help me get out of this place. When I came to work today, zombies were just a weird story on the radio. But, now I am sitting here in my booth at the gas station watching the whole world collapse. Oh, the day started out normal enough. People would come in, get their gas, and go. There were a couple of broke ass bastards who couldn’t get “their cards to work.” I told them that insufficient funds tended to cause card problems. I know it wasn’t very Christian, but I wasn’t very Christian this morning.

The Gas Station Attendant's Booth at an Atlanta area gas station

But, Lord, I am now. If you get me through this, I won’t ever visit the strip club again. You know I only went every Friday night to help put those poor girls through college? You know that right? I wouldn’t even go if you hadn’t made those women so perfect. Seriously, Lord, that Tabitha has it going on.

Anyway this morning, work went just fine. But, starting at lunch time, the world went crazy. Everyone was filling up. Some people had their cars packed with the wife, the kids, the dog, and almost everything they owned. People bought every case of water we had. We had lines eight cars deep and stretching clear across the parking lot. One guy came to the window and bought 10 cartons of cigarettes. Since he was carrying a rifle, I didn’t ask any questions.

After he paid, he says to me: “You better get out of here. They’re coming!” 
 Since he was making me nervous, I told him, “I guess you best be going.” 

At the time, I thought I was safer behind the glass since he was openly carrying a rifle right here in this neighborhood. I mean, Lord, this isn’t a bad neighborhood. But, that guy wasn’t crazy. He was right. The ‘hood started to go downhill fast, too.

Once that crazy dude moved on, I started keeping my eyes open and looking for weird stuff from my perch in my plexiglass cage. It didn’t take long to start seeing some crazy stuff. About ten minutes later, a really messed up looking white guy came limping towards the station. He was skinny and walked with a strange limp. I noticed that his clothes were torn, ragged, and bloody. As he got closer to the station, I was shocked to see that he had a least three bullet holes in him. I don’t even know how he was still walking. I lost sight of him as he walked behind a Chevy Tahoe at pump number one.

The next thing I saw was a fat dude running from behind that pump. He shouldn’t have run. He came my way, tripped on the curb for the pump island, and went down pretty hard for a middle-aged dude. Before he could even get back to his knees, that skinny, bloody, creature was on that dude’s back. His hands dug into the man’s shirt like claws and drew lots of blood. The big man rolled and raised his arms to fend off his attacker, and that crazy dude just bit right into his arms. He bit down hard too. I mean he took out some serious flesh out with his bite! The big guy was screaming.

He didn’t scream long though. The woman on pump five calmly put her nozzle away, gots in her big Volvo SUV, started it, and ran right into both the big guy and the zombie. She pushed both of them out of her way and peel out of the lot. She was gone and she wasn’t even looking back. I was stunned. The big guy was down and bleeding out and the scrawny biter got knocked out into the parking lot. I hesitated for a moment and then I did my part: I dialed 911. And, Jesus, do you know what happened then? Nothing. The call didn’t even go through. All the circuits were busy. Who the hell contracts out their 911 service anyway?

I hung up the phone and started to go out there to help. Some lady from another pump ran over to the big guy and knelt down to apply direct pressure to his wounds. An older gentleman came sauntering over to offer his assistance and I could see some other customers were still in their cars frantically dialing 911. So, I leave out through my side door and start to come around the front.

And, Lord, do you know what I saw?

Okay, I’ll tell you. I saw the scrawny white dude--with the gunshot wounds and bumper imprint on his chest--getting up.

Lord, I’m not going to lie. I ran the hell back around the corner and got right back in this here gas station hut. The skinny bloody dude was right on my heels, too. But, I got in here and slammed the door in his face. He’s still out there. He is looking through the plexiglass now.

Oh, he took a break, he took a break to bite the old dude who came to help. He took a break to bite the lady who was helping treat the fat guy’s wounds. He took a break to bite everyone who came to help the lady. I don’t know what that guy is on. He bit everyone. Sometimes, he bit them until they were dead. It was horrible. Sometimes he ripped out their guts. Every time I looked out my window, there was blood and mayhem. But, Lord, that isn’t the worst part.

That scrawny guy and everyone he killed is standing right outside my window and right outside my door. The big fat guy is up and staring right at me. He’s bloody and looks pale, but he is up. How does that even happen? The lady and the old man who came to the fat guy’s aid are out there too. There must be two dozen dead people out there looking at me. They are waiting for me. I know they want to bite me too. I can’t even get out to the Coca-Cola cooler.

So here I am Lord. Tell me how I get out of here. They can’t get through the plexiglass and I can’t get out through my door. So what do I do? How can I escape? If you let me get out and live, I’ll start coming to church. Every Sunday. For real, this time. I mean it. I’m a good person. I work hard. Now I need you to help me.

Please, Lord, help me.

Amen.

Zombie Flash Fiction - Black Friday Z

River kicked back in his tent.  On this Black Friday, he occupied the third spot from the door.  He would be the third person through the door at Big Box Electronics.  The security guard had already given him a certificate that guaranteed he would get 75% off the price of the newest PlayBox gaming system.  It would be sweet.  All he had to do was make it through the night.  He felt the cold hard sidewalk through the floor of the tent.  A shiver went through River's whole body.

Photo by Paul Budd [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], from Wikimedia Commons

Beating the cold was just a matter of mind over matter.  He had a whole thermos of his mom's hot chocolate.  At 16, River didn't need his mom to make him hot chocolate.  But, tonight, he was really glad that she did.  His mom and stepdad, Phil, were being really cool about Black Friday.  He just snugged down as far as possible in his cold weather sleeping bag and pulled the zipper all the way up.  Then he gingerly extended his arms out so he could rest his arms on the pillow.  He was in his fighting position.  Tablet on.  Game on.  Bluetooth synched.  He unwrapped a chocolate energy bar and placed it within easy reach.  Then River carefully placed his noise cancelling headphones on.  Every ear was encapsulated and warm.  He rotated the microphone down into position and dove into the game.  His whole squad was online and ready to rock.

The battle was intense.  He heard screams throughout the night.  The explosions were so real and so vivid that River thought he could feel the concussion of each grenade detonation.  The hours rolled by and the kills accumulated.  River and his crew were kicking ass.  They were unstoppable.  Then, he caught the flashing of his smart watch in the periphery of his vision.  It was 4:50 a.m.  It was almost go time.  He quickly said his "goodbyes," shut down the game, and stowed his tablet.

According to plan, his mom would be there to secure his tent shortly after the store opened.  He would be through the door, dash back to video games, get his PlayBox, and then he would pick up some accessories on the way out.  His gift cards were charged and he was ready to go.  As he pulled off his headphones, he could hear movement outside.  The crowd was rattling the steel grate that protected the BBE front door.

"That's bullcrap," River muttered under his breath.  "I'm number three!  That PlayBox is mine."

He slithered out of his thick sleeping back and maneuvered to get his jeans.  He tugged on them and met resistance.  Someone outside was standing on the tent and his pants.  River was angry.  Dad had paid a lot for this tent.

"Hey jerkwad," he yelled.  "Get off of my tent!"

He snatched his pants and pulled them on.  He heard the tent fabric ripping.  He was mad as hell now.  But, he stifled the emotion.  His mom and dad had told him that he didn't know anything about the people he was camping with.  Some of them were poor and desperate they had said.  Don't piss them off and don't show them any of your gear they had reminded him over and over.

"Hey Bro.  It's cool.  We're chill," he said as he unzipped the tent.

He hopped out to see that the whole front of the store was mobbed.  His mom and dad had been right.  There were a lot of poor people.  Many of them had torn parkas and coats.  Of course, there wasn't a police officer or security guard in sight.  Still, he was number three and he was going to get his PlayBox.  He had a certificate.  His spot in line was guaranteed.

River heard a menacing snarl behind him.  He shouldered his pack full of gear and whirled.  It was the jerk who stomped on his tent.

"Hey man," River said.  "It was pretty uncool to . . ."

River stopped talking as the man on the tent looked up at him.  The man's eyes were black as coal.  The black-eyed man charged at River and pinned him up against the hard brick wall of the store.  The man's hands grabbed solidly onto his jacket.  There was no life in the man's eyes and he snarled savagely as he leaned in for a bite.

"No," River yelled. "Get off of me you freak!"

River blocked upward with both arms to knock his assailants hands off of his neck momentarily and ducked under his assailant.  The man grabbed River's hood and pulled him backward.  The teen responded by smacking his assailant across the face with the bag of electronics.  His assailant paused, but was unphased.  He had no reaction at all to pain.  River kicked the man in the nuts and it didn't even phase him.  It didn't phase him at all.  River grabbed his assailant's arms, swung him around, and threw him to the ground. 

The crowd turned and looked at River for a moment.  River realized that none of them were concerned with the discounts that they would receive on big screen televisions.  They all shared the same dead black eyes of his assailant.  They also all started to move in his direction.  River turned and ran as fast as he could away from the store.  As he neared the edge of the parking lot, he saw his mom and stepfather driving towards him.

He had never been happier to see their metallic blue Chrysler Town & Country Mini Van in his life.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays Zombie Fans!

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Read Zombie Cage for Free!

My new horror short story, Zombie Cage, is out now.  It will drop you right into the center of a zombie horde with scientists and security personnel on a mission to collect zombie blood, zombie DNA, and even attach radio transmitters to track the movements of zombies.  The team will be protected only with their firearms and the bars of a steel cage.  If you like shark week, you'll love this short read.  It's normally free for readers who subscribe to Kindle Unlimited and 99 cents for everyone else reading with Kindle.  However, from August 1st through August 3rd, my short story will be free on Amazon to everyone!  My only request is that you leave a review on Amazon.  I'd love to know what you think of the story!