Zombie Paradise Lost: Still Alive Book Six

by Javan Bonds

  One foot contacted a pool of blood, planting its feet could not stop the forward momentum. Comically, the monster tipped over forward, straight onto its face. Rotten, brittle teeth scattered and a blue nose exploded on impact. The peevie face planting on that unforgiving floor was one of the most painful things I had ever watched. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  After watching this horrible spectacle with morbid fascination, the beast continued sliding directly toward me. I took a knee and held my katana in front of me and near the floor, horizontally, so the blade was even with the top of the skull. It couldn’t have been more than a few heartbeats later; the revenant came into contact with my katana. Ivory sliced into a brain casing like it was an overripe cantaloupe. Wet, stringy, strands of bloodied grey matter erupted from the cracked cranium like disgusting confetti.

  I rose, realizing that was the last attacker in the immediate vicinity. One of The Phantoms laughed from my rear. “You know sir, that thing was probably already unconscious; if not dead.

  His brother HIT chuckled. “Yeah, but you gotta admit, that show was entirely worth it.” My only response was to sigh as I began a hop-skipping voyage through the minefield of blood and bodily detritus. Damn, these Indians are hard-core!

  ☠☠☠

  The office was in a structure that was a building within the large garage. Squat and only thrown together, the walls were nothing more than cheap fiberboard surrounded by paneling. The manager’s office was in the corner of this flimsy structure. A Plexiglas window sat inside the wall, allowing the boss to see the grease monkeys working. Senselessly, the door into the office was in a hallway around the corner.

  As expected, the window had become a solid piece of the wall from within. Caked, like most surfaces inside of a zombie nest, with multiple layers of feces and dried Jackson Pollock style detritus. We only saw an inky black morass through what should have been an otherwise clear rectangle. It’s frightening to think that these things were able to produce that much waste.

  Instead of walking around the corner as I had planned, the green-tinged Trooper decided to send a submachine gun burst through the Plexiglas. It didn’t shatter, as I had expected it would from previous experience. The feces soaked window seemed to only sink into itself upon impact, and merely consume the bullets. Was peevie poop the new Kevlar? You would doubtfully find a willing test subject to wear a vest of bulletproof shit. Especially with that kind of odor!

  Perplexed as to our next move, I swiveled my head to the Clone Trooper on my right. “So... what should we do now?”

  He glanced at his fellow HIT, nodded slightly, and raised a finger.

  “Watch this, sir.” Mahatma took a side step to the left, aiming his H&K down the short hall containing the door to the office. Rajesh was surely smiling as he theatrically tiptoed to stand at the window. The whole time my mind is playing the theme from The Pink Panther. Reaching into his grenade pouch, he lifts a cylindrical item from within, pulls the pin, and shoves this grenade through the Plexiglas; where it had been weakened by the lead storm before. Removing his arm from the cavity as carefully and quickly as he could, his hand was now noticeably empty. Jogging backward to take a knee in front of his brother, they both aimed with their carbines in the same direction. Those were, the longest three seconds, I have ever endured!

  A bright light shone through the hollow that Mattu’s arm just created in the wall of shit. The sound of a muffled explosion could definitely be picked up through the legendary organic insulation. Immediately following both of these events came an insane screaming that sounded like crazed mental patients being skinned alive.

  This beautiful and psychotic symphony was playing the perfect tune. However, it was of course not the only joy we were about to receive. Within seconds our olfactory nerves were also assaulted by the scent of what had to be five lifetimes worth of burning excrement, turned into a satanic new flavor of potpourri. I’m delighted Yankee Candle never let something like this out of their test kitchen. The constant wailing of the undead was nearly as disturbing as watching a football field of flaming chocolate pudding crammed into a standard office cubical. I think it was the universe's way of denying the fact we created a real, holy shit. The accursed peevies had only one exit for which to escape their fiery torment. Every one of them with the ability to still move raced for that exit.

  Zombies with holes being rapidly eaten through them by flying Willie P magma, piled out of the door only to be met with high-velocity bullets; immediately followed by their final death. Former humans missing ears, noses, or completely severed appendages were relentlessly mowed down by The Phantoms. A spectator would say that this was like shooting fish in a barrel; entirely unfair. Honestly, I guess it was pretty close, but I don’t have much sympathy for cannibals that would eat us, bones and all if given the opportunity.

  Stretching down the nearly packed full hallway was the horde of bleeding, burned, skeletal revenants; victims of the incendiary. Obviously, the room had been crammed with zombies because the dying and melting reanimated corpses were nearly knee-deep! Cringing, I realized we were going to have to wade through the mass of wet, stinking, blue tissue to reach the room beyond. The walls now resembled black Swiss cheese, but closer inspection was required.

  Mahatma and Rajesh both took a position at my side, facing the door. At the same instant, we all realized that if Brandy Hamric had been alive in that room, that white phosphorus grenade just damned her soul, just as it had the peevies. Rajesh began a question, for the first time he sounded frightened. “Sir, what if–“

  I threw up my hand. “Don’t even think about it!” On this investigation, I was actually hoping we wouldn’t find the missing child; at least, not where she was expected to be.

  Our boots squished through the heap of truly dead. We finally came to a door barely hanging on to the frame by one hinge. This inner hive contained everything any survivor had seen and smelled before. Bones picked clean, maggot-infested remains of more than one half eaten, furry animal, and what looked like a nursing home full of diarrhea after chili day covered every single inch of the floor.

  The usual suspects accented by any peevies fortunate enough to have died soon after the initial explosion, blue limbs lay burned off by a Willy Pete, and a single ghoul sat paralyzed from the waist down by the grenade

  Apparently, the phosphorus had eaten away a large portion of its face, rendering it blind. Bloodied trenches had been dug through the holes in the skull. Several gouges were ripped in the skin, where the animal tried to dig the unstoppable fire out with its fingers. It was difficult not to feel sorry for the creature. I just tried to remember how it would uncaringly slice off a little girl’s arm or leg and eat it in front of her. It was going to suffer just as it was until we finished investigating this business. After that, I would burn the building to the fucking ground!

  What was the point on this hive? There was no litter of young peevies to be seen. Had the smaller ones simply been covered up by their guardians? Zed’s wasn’t even a nest just days ago when the church team was here. I couldn’t see much point in its existence at all or, to be truthful, how it existed.

  It almost seemed like something that had been placed only as an obstacle to our investigation or a tool to invoke intense action. Twisted entertainment for some deranged audience.

  “Well, I don’t think she’s here.” The green Trooper sighed in relief.

  As I turned to exit the room, my shoulders slumped. “It’s okay, sir. We’ll find her.” One of The Phantoms attempted to console me.

  Will we? What about the next one? Or the one after that? How can more children disappear? Where are they going? Does it seem the rate at which they are disappearing is speeding up? Will this mystery ever be solved? Will I ever be able to answer any of these questions? Do people even care anymore?

  There’s so much bad shit happened people get numb to it. Sometimes, those of us that have survived the apocalypse grow accustomed to loss and death.

  Disgus
ted that I again failed another set of parents, the people of Guntersville, and ultimately myself, I huffed in the direction of the door. Noticing a plastic fuel can in a corner; I leaned over to pick it up. Sniffing, it must have been diesel fuel or some other type of accelerant besides gasoline. How had the initial scavengers, plus the second string missed something so visible?

  Turning the can on its side so the liquid could drain out the nozzle in a trail behind me, I could only smile. “Maybe it was supposed to be,” I spoke wistfully to no one.

  Tossing the empty can as I walked out the door with both HITs at my sides, I pulled a book of matches from my jacket. Striking one, I dropped it in the trail of fuel and continued walking to the Humvee. “We can only hope for better luck next time. Let’s move!”

  Whatever was in that can must have been some pretty strong stuff. The blaze devoured the building in mere seconds. We hadn’t even made it into our vehicle, and the shell of the building was entirely consumed. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that most surfaces inside had been soaked in layers of oil. That is, underneath all the layers of rancid feces.

  The green-trimmed Trooper turned back to face the burning building before taking a final backstep to open the rear driver side door. “Think we should have brought marshmallows?”

  His countryman guffawed as he made his way around the Humvee. “Nah, what’s burning might give it an extra flavor!”

  Rajesh chuckled, reaching behind him for the door. As he planted his feet, they both shot out from under him. “Argh! What the...!”

  23

  Weapon of Choice

  Hours had passed since the glorious battle on the trash barge with the most recent incarnation of The Dictator. All of the scrapes and dents in Gene’s Brotherhood of Steel power armor had been hammered out, and the suit looked perfect again. Easy’s Iron Man suit also appeared impeccably clean and fresh off the rack after his fight with The Villain. Before trekking into the next hydroelectric dam, The Tech felt honored to present Akambiya Ngona-Collins with a gift. She would now be able to carry the iklwa, a Zulu short, thrusting spear; a traditional weapon from the African Continent.

  Wearing his armor, as usual, Gene walked reverently to stand in front of where Aka sat on the deck. Taking a knee, he dropped his gaze and lifted the bladed spear with both hands. “Milady.”

  Surprised, she stood knowing precisely what it was. The ordinarily quiet African beauty was uncharacteristically excited. “An iklwa!” Pausing, she waited for him to look up. “For me?”

  Gene held back a smile and nodded. “As it should be.”

  Aka almost squealed as she took the archaic weapon from him. “Thank you!”

  At the time, The Tech was unaware. Even her husband, the Protector, didn’t know. It had never been pertinent before, and no one asked. She had been trained by a master to use this specific weapon. A regionally customary killing device in her home country of Zambia, the Zulu thrusting spear, the iklwa, was a favorite of one of the elders in her village growing up. She trained with an expert to use this tool of death for hunting, self-defense, and of course offense. This deadly spear would replace her halberd and become her new melee weapon! Akambiya’s first chance to try her new weapon out would be later today at the next dam the Cora was fast approaching.

  24

  Just Getting Started

  One of the more tech savvy-survivors, Thad Russell, sat behind the control board in the sound booth at Guntersville First Methodist. After adjusting some dials, fine-tuning the lapel mic and speaker system, he gave a thumbs up sign to the man standing behind the pulpit.

  Brother Mike Brown gave a beatific grin, subtly nodding. Spreading the word a special service would be called tonight, he made sure to speak gravely, letting every Islander know it was important to the flock. He was about to give his opinion, which most of the sheeple took as unquestionable gospel, to the congregation. An opinion I know to be false, but they don’t, so I’m going to give it anyway.

  “Brothers and sisters,” The Wolf began, “I have called you here today to consider, and pray as I have, on the problems our community is facing. Some among us see what happened to the world on May 1st as judgment, a punishment from God. I, myself, do not speak for Him and dare not place His ultimate design on events. At least, not on a scale so large. However, I can rightfully say that we, the followers of the Lord, have been truly blessed to have received the safety that God bestowed upon us by granting us this island!” The preacher waited for the applause and standing ovation to die down.

  Gazing over the entire assemblage without blinking, he continued. “But...” he raised a single finger, “there are always wolves pawing at the door and sometimes...sometimes, our Holy Father sees fit to remind us that we must always remain vigilant, and protect the rest of the fold.” All the faithful grew more and more tense with each powerful word.

  Holy shit, this is really working! These stupid fucking yokels are eating this shit up. Only a little bit more of a push and they’ll be ready to crucify Jesus Fucking Christ if I tell them to. The supposed temporary replacement for The Man of God could barely contain a maniacal giggle. “And sometimes those wolves are right in our midst, wearing sheep’s clothing. We are not to tolerate traitors in the temple!” Nearly every member of the group glanced to their neighbor at each side.

  What the fuck? This shit doesn’t even make sense. I’m just saying things with intensity, and they take it like it’s fucking gospel! “The children that have gone missing recently...Something tells me it wasn’t the blue monsters that snatched them. I’m inclined to believe they’ve been abducted by an agent of Satan on this island!” If any of you dumbfucks had a brain, you’d figure out that I’m that agent!

  “Has anyone noticed Mayor Collins has been acting particularly shady as of late?” Brother Brown raised an eyebrow, running his preposterous look over each churchgoer.

  Fists clenched and jaws were noticeably set. A tumultuous, fiery, and seemingly unanimous roar came from the congregation. They were all swept up in agreement with their shepherd. Though not positive, he was fairly sure he heard a few shouts of “Hell yeah!” Maybe even a couple people scream “Kill him!”

  The Wolf was in awe, stupefied by his charismatic, persuasive abilities. He’d just put a bull’s-eye on the back of the man that was his only competition for the hearts and minds of these people...And the meat of their children!

  I don’t think I’ve ever experienced mob mentality on this scale. Are all Jesus freaks this gullible or is it just the retards in Alabama? It’s a good thing the mayor didn’t attend this special service; these psychos would carry him up to the stage and crucify him.

  Honestly, it wouldn’t have bothered him if one of the deranged fuckers was to leave service early and assassinate the damn mayor. However, he was confident their communal fury would simmer and eventually boil over in time. Raging anger would only become lasting hate for a man they were completely positive was a baby killer. They didn’t even have this notion until I merely used the right combination of words to make them all suddenly realize an evil kidnapper was ruling them!

  Holding up both hands, he attempted to calm the flock. “Brothers, sisters! Let’s not allow our anger to get the best of us. We don’t want to do anything hasty. Let things lay for the time being, and we will see God at work! He will let us know when it is time to act. Events happen in His time, not ours.” Taking comfort in Brother Brown’s divinely inspired message, the faithful grew quiet.

  ☠☠☠

  Moving through a few items of business, less contentious subjects were discussed. Until May Day, his first inclination would have been to take as much money from these Bible thumpers as possible. Now though, money wasn’t the prized commodity it once was, his focus now lay on other precious things. Precious and tasty!

  Before stepping down from the podium to take a seat on the first pew beside his wife, he made a final note. “Oh, and the children’s choir is going to come up to lead us in some music.”
Gesturing for the children to come forward, he simultaneously stepped from the stage.

  Sitting with his Bible in hand, he watched the children walk by with a fatherly eye. Goddamn, praise Jesus! I almost forgot about those two. The Olsen twins, eight or nine-year-old blonde girls with fluffy, bouncy pigtails stood in line with the other children, hand-in-hand. God, I can only imagine how that shit will taste! He opened his Bible somewhere near the middle and turned it face down in his lap.

  Well, I did promise chili on Sunday. I’ll just have to talk to their idiot parents to make sure they’ll be coming along for the scouting mission tomorrow. Glancing over to Lauren, she smiled knowingly. She’s on board. Now, to make sure they’re where they are supposed to be. Everything always works out perfectly!

  25

  Mo Journal Entry 2

  The Cora came to another dam. My name still had not been taken out of the hat. Surprise! An unfit, unhealthy, and unshaven scallywag like me, The Hero, would be protecting our sole dam technician through another hydroelectric lock.

  Somehow, I was partnered with one of the physically fit crewmembers, the always resolute jarhead wearing the Samus suit, Captain Petunia “Hammer” Sledge. It was rare that The Screenwriter gave me a reprieve; I was willing to take advantage of the delusional former Marine that saw the peevies as her old Cold War enemies. One of The Phantoms, Sanjay Patel, had already pretty much told me he would never be going into another dam with me. My brother had definitely rigged the random drawing so our names would never show up for the same dam.