Our Dead Bodies [Anthology]

by Wright, Jerry

  “What’s your name?” he asked as he cleared away their dishes.

  “Mac,” she said, smiling weakly.

  “I’m Kyle,” he said, sticking out his hand but retrieving it almost immediately, looking embarrassed.

  “Why doesn’t it hurt?” she asked, lifting up her stump.

  “Ah, that would be the super strong painkillers,” he replied, “Being a med student gives you the advantage of knowing the good stuff from the really good stuff.”

  She chuckled, hoping he had a lot more where that came from.

  “Is Mac short for something?” Kyle asked, the candlelight flickering across his face.

  “Makayla,” she replied, “but no one ever really calls me that.”

  “Where you headed?” he asked, lying down on his own pile of blankets and folding his arms behind his head.

  “Orlando,” she said with a sigh, “My grandparents are there.”

  “I heard it’s safe there,” he said, glancing at her.

  “Yeah, it is,” she moved down onto her back again, feeling extremely sleepy, “My dad and I, we’ve been traveling from San Francisco.”

  Kyle made a whistling sound through his teeth.

  “That’s a long way to go,” he said.

  “We’ve… I’ve made it this far.”

  She looked up at the ceiling and the intricate shadows the flickering candlelight created there. Lt. Harry Wilson was silent, muted by the drugs.

  “You should get some sleep,” Kyle said, getting up and moving towards the candle, “You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you’re okay, the infection didn’t get a chance to spread. We would have known by now if it had.”

  “Kyle,” she said before closing her eyes and drifting off into a blessedly dream-free sleep, “Thank you.”

  …

  "How much further?" Mac asked for the hundredth time that day.

  "About ninety miles," Kyle replied patiently from the driver's seat.

  She liked him. There were times when he reminded her of Lt. Harry Wilson, and that made her smile. They were only ninety miles from Orlando, and Mac was getting restless. Their last few days of traveling had seen insane amounts of rainfall. She wondered if the rain had any effect on the stiffs whatsoever, or if it just softened them up some more like overripe tomatoes baking in the sun.

  The world is gonna be a green place after this, Mackey, what with all the fertilizer walkin' around.

  "Shit, Mac," Kyle said from next to her, easing on the break of the Lexus they had lifted from a liquor store’s parking lot. Some drunk had left the keys in the ignition, or that was at least the story Mac told herself.

  The road was blocked by a camper lying on its side. Stiffs were ambling along around it like religious zealots around some kind of holy relic.

  "We have to go around," Mac said almost automatically.

  Protect the vehicle at all costs, Mackey. If it looks like trouble, go 'round if you can. Don't stop. There are things even worse than stiffs, unfortunately. But check the terrain before you do anythin' or you'll get your ass stuck in a marsh or your tires blown to hell or somethin' equally unpleasant.

  "Wait," she said as Kyle started moving onto the dirt next to the road, "something doesn't feel right. Go back."

  "Mac..." he started, but she interrupted him.

  "Just trust me! Go back," she scanned the surrounding trees but saw nothing out of the ordinary - if you count walking corpses as ordinary, of course.

  "Something about the camper wasn't right," she said as they drove back the way they came to yet another back road leading out of there, “I wonder how it got that way."

  "Who knows," Kyle said, exasperated, "Maybe a bee flew in the window and stung the driver on his fucking eyeball."

  Mac laughed, but Kyle didn't. This was the umpteenth time they had to turn around and go back the way they came to try another road. Their options were declining radically.

  "I just didn't trust it," Mac said softly.

  "Lt. Harry Wilson?" Kyle asked.

  "Lt. Harry Wilson," she sighed.

  Their humble abode for the evening was an abandoned farmhouse which looked to Mac like something out of The Amityville Horror, a movie she watched without her dad’s knowledge and against his wishes. It was something which still gave her nightmares, though she would never admit it.

  The sky was a dark and violent gray, the smell of an approaching storm in the air. They didn't have any food left, so their stomachs provided the background noise during the brief interludes of thunder silence.

  They were only about 50 miles from Orlando, but they couldn't risk driving through the storm. They'd come this far, and to end it all now in some muddy car accident would have been the most rotten cherry on a cake of flesh.

  Mac was telling Kyle about the book of wisdom she wanted to compile when a deep voice spoke behind them.

  "Hands," it said, after which there was the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked.

  This must be some cosmic joke, Mac thought as she lifted her stump into the air.

  "What have we got here, Roy?" another voice said.

  "Two young lovers enjoying the end of the world," Roy responded.

  Heavy footsteps creaked on the wooden floorboards.

  "We don't want any trouble," Kyle said, casting a quick glance at Mac.

  There may come a time when people are a greater threat than the undead. Be still, Mackey. Do what they want, and don't provoke them. Stay alive. But you keep your eyes open. Wait for them to reveal the weakness they inevitably have. Bid your time, and run.

  "We don't want no trouble neither," deep voice said, "but we do want the keys to the car."

  "Please," Mac found her voice, "we're going to Orlando. It's safe there. You can come with us."

  Deep voice laughed.

  "Hear that, Jamie? It's safe in Orlando."

  Jamie made a noise which Mac could only associate with a pig rolling in shit. She cringed on the inside. The laughter died down and was followed by an intensely uncomfortable silence. Mac wished she could turn around and stare her assailants in the face. She hated feeling like a coward. Lt. Harry Wilson wouldn't have been a coward.

  "Keys," deep voice said, "or we'll take them off your corpses."

  "They're in my pocket," Kyle said nervously.

  "Jamie, get."

  More footsteps.

  "Nice and easy now young pup," Jamie said as he fished the keys out of Kyle's pocket.

  "Here's what's gonna happen," deep voice said authoritatively, "we're gonna go out the front door and close it nice and tight, do you folks a favor by not lettin' in the dead ones millin' about on the porch, and we're gonna drive on outta here without any trouble. Got it?"

  Mac and Kyle nodded in unison.

  “Roy,” Jamie moaned, “the girl.”

  “Jamie, she’s not…”

  “You promised!”

  “Okay, okay!”

  The floorboards creaked again. Mac could feel the heat coming off the man standing behind her. She felt cold steel against her skin as he pressed the barrel of the gun against her neck.

  “You’re comin’ with us,” deep voice said.

  “No, please,” Kyle said, getting ready to stand up.

  “Sit down!” Roy roared, chilling Mac’s blood. She could tell he wouldn’t think twice of shooting Kyle right in his face.

  “You,” he said, pushing the gun deeper into her neck, “Up. Now. Or we feed your boyfriend to our friends outside.”

  Mac got onto shaky legs, tears threatening in her eyes.

  Don’t be afraid, Mackey.

  She turned around and faced one of the biggest men she had ever seen. His long black hair was tied back in a greasy ponytail. She gauged that four of her could fit inside one of him. Jamie was standing in the doorway, the opposite of Roy in appearance, but she thought she could bet her life on them being equally rotten on the inside.

  “Let’s go,” he motioned to the door with his gun.


  “Mac!” Kyle shouted as she reached the door, “I’m… sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she managed before being huddled out of the house.

  Roy and Jamie’s friends came at them as soon as they stepped onto the porch, but their sluggish dead limbs were no match for her captors’ guns. Their faces were smashed in as soon as they were within reaching distance. Mac looked back at the house as she was ushered into the back seat of the Lexus. Roy and Jamie had lied. They’d left the front door wide open. Mac screamed in horror as she saw two stiffs wander through the entrance, hoping Kyle could hear her.

  Tears were streaming down her face as the farmhouse disappeared behind the trees.

  “Quiet down, now,” Roy said from the driver’s seat.

  “What do you want?!” Mac screamed at them.

  Roy stepped on the break, causing Mac’s face to smash into the seat in front of her.

  “I said, quiet down!” Roy snapped, “Keep your mouth shut or I swear to Christ I will break your teeth.”

  Mac’s lip trembled, but she held her tongue. Lt. Harry Wilson would do as they say until he could escape. Mac had never missed her dad more.

  The sun was hanging low on the horizon, casting its orange light onto the dark clouds above them in beautiful shades of pink and purple. Mac hadn’t stopped to appreciate the beauty of the world for quite some time, so she allowed her eyes to drink in all the magnificent colors of the sky. She had the nagging feeling that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to do it again for a good long while.

  “What’s this?” Jamie asked, waking Mac from her thoughts.

  They’d reach the same camper she and Kyle had come across earlier that day.

  “We go ‘round,” Roy said simply.

  He moved the Lexus onto the dirt next to the road, overtaking the camper at a dangerous speed. There was a deafening pop as the car swerved and slid over the dry mud. Roy cursed as he tried to straighten out the steering wheel, but the wheels had locked. Everything was moving in slow motion then. Mac saw the world outside of the car spin around and around until everything tipped and tumbled. Her head smashed first into the ceiling, and then into the window, then into the ceiling again.

  It was a while before she realized that the car had come to a stop. The silence was deafening. Mac lay on the ceiling of the car, trying not to move anything.

  Assess your injuries before trying to get out, Mackey.

  Her ears were ringing and her head hurt something fierce, but Mac managed to move both her legs and arms. She turned her head to where Roy and Jamie had been, but they must have been flung through the windscreen because she was alone in the wreck.

  Blessedly, her ears stopped ringing, and she could hear the wheels of the car still spinning aimlessly above her. There was also a sharp hissing sound she didn’t recognize, probably some part of the engine destroyed in the roll. She heard another sound which made her stomach sink - the gurgled, throaty gagging of the dead. The missing windscreen was the easiest way out. Mac crawled over the broken glass, struggling with only one hand. Sharp shards cut at her knees and palm, but she pushed through. Her head was swimming by the time she finally escaped the car. Darkness threatened her vision, but she took a deep breath, refusing to pass out.

  Bits of debris were lying on the ground around her. Her eyes searched the wreckage for Roy and Jamie, and when they finally found them she couldn’t help but feel pity for the sons of bitches. They were lying a few feet from each other, arms outstretched like they had been reaching for one another in their final moments. Bent over them were half a dozen ghastly forms, each one in different states of decay. Her captors’ intestines were spilled onto the dirt as the dead feasted on them.

  Mac saw her opportunity and slipped behind the camper out of sight. She had two options – she could run in the direction of Orlando (so close she could almost taste it), or she could follow the road back to the farmhouse, back to Kyle. It was an easy decision.

  The fact that she had escaped the crash with but a bump on the head was nothing short of a miracle, and the weight of the situation wasn’t lost on Mac as she jogged down the road. The sun had almost set completely, and with it came the chill of the night. Thunder roared in the sky above, and a small drizzle began to fall. Mac pushed forward, her lungs burning. Every now and then she had to catch her breath and stop the dizziness from overtaking her. All she could think of was Kyle, and finding him alive and okay at the farmhouse.

  Family, Mackey, is more important than anything. In this world, now, you have to find your own family. A family of strangers. But keep ‘em close, like I keep you close.

  Kyle was her family now. He was the only thing she had in the world now, and she would do anything to get back to him.

  It felt like hours later when she finally spotted the farmhouse in the dim light reflected from the storm clouds above. It was raining, but not heavily. The wind had picked up, whipping the tree branches violently from side to side. Mac ran up the stairs to the front door, which was closed. She managed a relieved smile as she caught her breath and reached for the knob.

  “Kyle!” she shouted as she entered the house, “Oh my god, I thought you were dead. I saw..”

  The words caught in her throat. Kyle was standing in the doorway leading to the living room where earlier that day they had sat and laughed together. His face was sunken and pale, his skin drenched in an unhealthy sweat. A gaping wound on his shoulder was leaking blood onto his shirt and down his arm.

  “Mac,” he said, smiling weakly, “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

  The words seem to take the last bit of his strength. His legs collapsed under him and he fell hard onto the floorboards. Mac ran to him. The wound on his shoulder smelled foul, like he was already starting to rot even though his heart was still beating.

  “I got ‘em, Mac,” he said wheezily, “I killed the stiffs.”

  Mac laughed through the tears. Just a few days ago he had told her how barbaric a term that was.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” she said with a sob, “You’re okay.”

  But Kyle hadn’t heard her. His eyes were staring past her, and his breathing had stopped. He was dead.

  Mac put her head on his chest and screamed. Her only family taken away. Again. She was alone. Again. The world was a horrible stinking place, and she hated it.

  She left the farmhouse in a daze, just as the storm hit properly. She wandered down the road aimlessly, unaware of the rain slamming against her body. She didn’t fight when a figure came at her from amidst the trees. She didn’t scream as rotting teeth sank into her skin.

  …

  A horde of the living dead wandered down the road to the heavily guarded roadblock just outside of Orlando. Soldiers sat in the sun on the wall, sweating in their weighty gear. The horde gurgled and groaned, but had nowhere to go. Among them was a young girl with one hand, cherry red Doc Martens shuffling in the dust.

  CEMETERY THINGS by Jennifer Benn

  Katie was sitting on the floor of her dorm room. Papers and books were strewn around her in an arc. So far, her junior year of college had consisted of nothing but all-nighters, energy drinks, and stress eating. Her roommate’s television was blaring something about a revolutionary treatment for brain tumors. “Mia, could you turn that down please?” The racket made it hard to focus. She had already read the same sentence three times.

  “Mia!” Katie yelled in frustration over the news anchors as she slammed down her chemistry book. The book’s hardcover sounded like a gunshot as it struck the floor. Katie tugged her black t-shirt down as she stood up. She hooked her fingers into her belt loops and jumped a little as she wiggled her jeans higher on her hips. She stomped across the living room to Mia’s bedroom. Her eyes bulged in annoyance as she glared from the doorway.

  Mia had her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. A slight, minty froth gathered at the corners of her lips. Damp hair clung to her shoulders from the shower, and the steam still lingered in the
air. Mia was sitting on the edge of her bed. Her blue comforter and wet towel were in a heap on the floor. Mia’s eyes were wide as she kept watching the screen. Light from the television played across her face as the scenes shifted. Katie walked over to her with an exasperated sigh and plopped down next her. The TV was looping footage of a brain cancer patient who had been undergoing the newest treatment. They called it Recusant. It was an injection that targeted the mutated tumor cells and shrank the cancer. Katie watched as the video clip showed a man whose skin was sallow and cheeks were sunken in. Her frustration melted into horror as she watched, both repulsed and fascinated at the same time. She couldn’t make herself look away. The patient looked more skeleton than a man. His eyes were wide and crazed as they darted back and forth hardly blinking. The tendons in his neck threatened to snap and burst free as he strained against his hospital bed. The orderlies were trying to secure his restraints, but the man lashed out at them. A nurse ran in to help hold him down, and the man sunk his teeth into her forearm. The footage cut off abruptly and looped back to the beginning. The pane zoomed out to show the reporter in the studio while the hospital footage continued in the top, right-hand corner.

  “Nurse Lee is still in critical condition and has begun to show signs of brain damage in her prefrontal cortex. Doctors caring for the injured nurse say that this area of the brain is responsible for behavior and personality. At this time, her cortex is being monitored by regularly scheduled MRI’s, but specialists say there is a steady decrease in its size. Nurse Lee and the other patients who have undergone Recusant treatments are being closely monitored.” The news anchor’s voice remained emotionless through the story as she transitioned nonchalantly to the weather segment.