A Girl a Dog and Zombies on the Munch

by David Robbins

  Copyright ©2018 David L Robbins

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  Any such distributions or reproductions of this publication will be punishable under the United Squays Copyright Act and the Digital Millennium Copyright Act to the fullest extent including Profit Damages (SEC 504 A1), Statutory Damages (SEC 504 2C) and Attorney Fees and Court Costs.

  DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional work. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Mad Hornet Pub.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-950096-13-8

  Dedicated to Judy, Joshua and Shane

  CHAPTER 1

  The end of the world sucked.

  Courtney Hewitt glared at the ugly clouds that filled the sky from horizon to horizon, then at the darkly sinister countryside to either side, and finally at the man leading their little group.

  Were it up to her, she would be safe and cozy in her room in Minneapolis watching videos or talking on the phone or any of the other hundred and one things she used to like to do.

  The last thing she would ever want to be doing was hiking through the boonies, bound for the north part of Minnesota in the hope that there might be a safe haven from the madness.

  Was it only days ago, Courtney reflected, that she had been in high school? Only days ago that her life had been ordinary and peaceful? Even if she hadn’t realized how sweet that was at the time?

  She missed being able to take a shower—dear God, how she missed that!—and not having to worry where her next meal would come from.

  And—the biggie—not having to worry about being killed.

  A sharp growl from a stand of trees to her left brought Courtney up short.

  The others stopped, too.

  Their leader, if you could call him that, was Alex Dutfeld, the father of one of her best friends, Sally Ann, who was right behind her. Sally Ann was one of the brainiest people in school. And one of the nicest.

  Her father, however, was an alcoholic, and at the moment he was savoring another mouthful from a silver flask. In his other hand he gripped a Remington pistol-grip shotgun. Wedged under his belt was a Ruger Vaquero.

  Sally Ann sighed. “Look at him,” she said bitterly. “He’s half soused.”

  “I’d be more worried about that growl,” Courtney said.

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than an apparition shuffled out of the trees toward them.

  Once, it had been human. A young woman, not much older than Courtney and Sally Ann, her blonde hair filthy, her face a horrible mask of decomposed flesh. Her eyes were glazed and empty of life, yet there she was, lurching toward them as if animated by a force from beyond the grave. As she advanced, she clacked her teeth in anticipation of feasting on their flesh.

  “Another damn zombie,” said the fourth member of their party, and Billy Thompson, another of Courtney’s friends from high school, moved between them and the new threat. He was limping from an injury he suffered in the Twin Cities.

  “You need a weapon,” Sally said. “We all do.”

  “Blame him,” Billy said, with a jerk of his head toward her father. “He took all the guns, remember?”

  Courtney remembered it all too well. Mad because they wouldn’t do as he wanted, Alex Dutfeld had taken command. As the oldest, Alex felt he should be calling the shots.

  “What are you three muttering about?” Alex said as he capped his flask.

  Billy pointed at the zombie, now less than twenty feet away.

  “Do something.”

  “As slow as that thing’s moving?” Alex said, and shook his head. “It’d be a waste of ammo. Kill it yourself, boy. You’re supposed to be the great high school jock, aren’t you?”

  Balling his fist and glowering, Billy took a half-step toward the older man.

  Sally Ann quickly whispered, “Please don’t provoke him, Billy.”

  Courtney was the only one still watching the zombie. Casting about, she spied a rock about the size of a cantaloupe and scooped it up.

  Just as the female zombie put on a burst of speed.

  Another growl rent the air. But this time it wasn’t the zombie. It was Gaga, the mongrel Courtney had rescued in the Twin Cities. The usually timid dog sprang at the zombie’s legs and snapped viciously.

  The zombie ignored her. Fingers curled like claws, it lunged at Billy, who jerked aside, swearing.

  Serves you right, Courtney almost said out loud. He should have been paying attention. Instead, she took a bound and brought the rock crashing down on the zombie’s head. Bone crunched and gore spattered, and the creature stiffened and stumbled.

  Before Courtney could press her advantage, Billy tore the rock from her grasp and attacked the thing himself. As she had seen him do once before, he nearly went berserk. He smashed and pounded even after the zombie was down, hitting and hitting until its head was a puddle of crushed bone and mush. Finally he stopped,stepped back, gulped a few deep breaths, and faced Alex Dutfeld. “I want my gun back.”

  “Not going to happen,” Alex said.

  “I mean it,” Billy said, taking a step and hefting the gore-spattered rock.

  “Or what?” Alex taunted, and pointed the shotgun at Billy.

  Courtney was about to intervene but Sally Ann beat her to it. Darting between her father and Billy, she held out her hands toward them.

  “Stop it! Both of you! I’m so tired of this bickering.” She faced her father. “Dad, you had no right to take all the guns. If you’re not going to protect us, you should give them back.”

  “Not going to happen, baby girl,” Alex said.

  “Stop calling me that,” Sally Ann snapped. “I’ve asked you a thousand times. I’m not a baby anymore.”

  “I held you in my arms when you were born,” Alex said. “You’ll always be my baby girl to me.”

  “I want my revolver,” Billy said.

  “Yours, hell,” Alex said. “You found it it in somebody’s house.”

  “I’m so tired of you,” Billy said.

  “Works both ways, kid,” Alex said.

  Afraid their argument would escalate, Courtney spoke up. “We can settle this later. Right now, we have the zombies to worry about. “

  “She’s right,” Sally Ann said. “We’re out in the open. Exposed. Let’s find somewhere to rest a while.”

  “We’ll move on when he drops that rock,” Alex said, nodding at Billy.

  “Billy?” Sally Ann said.

  Billy glowered at Alex, the rock clutched tight.

  “Billy?” Sally Ann said again.

  “He’ll get us killed, as drunk as he is,” Billy said.

  “Up yours, boy,” Alex said.

  Courtney put a hand on Billy’s arm. “Please. For me.”

  Their eyes met, and Courtney felt, again, the deep well of affection he bore for her. He’d admitted as much not long ago, much to her surprise. They had been friends forever. It never occurred to her that he might care for her more than that.

  Billy’s fingers loosened and the rock thudded to the ground.

  “
Smart,” Alex said, and laughed.

  “Dad!” Sally Ann said.

  Alex resumed hiking. “There’s a farm yonder,” he said, pointing. “We’ll stop there. Maybe find something to eat.”

  Courtney and Sally Ann and Billy let Alex get a little ahead before they continued on.

  “I can’t take much more of him,” Billy said so only they would hear.

  “He’s my dad,” Sally Ann said.

  “So we’re supposed to go on letting him boss us around?” Billy responded.

  Courtney saw Alex glance back. “Now’s not the time for this,” she whispered. “We’ll talk later. In the meantime, there’s the farmhouse. I could use a hot meal.”

  “I hear that,” Sally Ann said.

  Courtney shifted her backpack to better distribute the weight. The left strap kept digging into her shoulder.

  Billy whispered, “We really have to do something about Sally’s old man.”

  “Let it drop, I told you,” Courtney said. “We’ll deal with him later.”

  “Deal how?” Billy said. “Ask him pretty please to give back the revolver he took from me?”

  “For the love of God,” Courtney said. “Give it a rest.”

  “We should ditch him,” Billy ignored her. “Wait our chance and slip away.”

  “Without weapons?”

  “We’ll find new ones.”

  Courtney was looking down at the road but now she raised her head—just in time to keep from bumping into Sally Ann. Her friend had stopped and was staring at the farmhouse.

  So was her father.

  The reason was obvious.

  Three stories high, with a peaked roof and a weathervane, the house was yellow with white trim. The first and second floors were fitted with four windows to a side. The third floor had a small window near the peak. And there, as plain as anything, glowed a light.

  “A lantern, I bet,” Sally Ann said.

  “Or a propane lamp,” Billy said.

  “It means somebody is living there,” Alex said. “It means we have to be extra careful.”

  “You can’t go marching up waving the shotgun,” Sally Ann said. “They won’t let us in.”

  “Maybe we should pass it by,” Courtney said. “Find a place that’s empty.”

  “The next farm could be miles away,” Alex said. “I say we invite ourselves in.”

  “Those people might not want visitors,” Courtney said.

  Alex made a clucking sound. “Haven’t you been paying attention, Hewitt? World War Three has broken out. It’s everyone for themself. Survival of the fittest, like in caveman times.”

  “We’re not cavemen, dad,” Sally Ann said. “We’re civilized.”

  “Tell that to the bombs and missiles that rained down,” Alex said. “Wake up and smell the blood, baby girl. Now let’s go introduce ourselves.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Courtney wasn’t about to let Alex Dutfeld hurt innocent people. She had kept her temper in check and tried to be reasonable. And Alex was still being a douche.

  As they neared the farmhouse, she walked faster and overtook him. He was so intent on the farmhouse, he didn’t notice her until she passed him.

  Gaga, as usual, was glued to her legs.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Alex demanded.

  Without looking back at him, Courtney said, “What decent people do. I’m going up to their front door and knock.”

  “Like hell you are,” Alex said.

  “Unless you’re willing to shoot me in the back, watch me.” Courtney tensed, the skin between her shoulder-blades prickling, half-expecting him to actually shoot. He must have raised the shotgun because Sally Ann suddenly let out a sharp cry.

  “Dad! Don’t even think it!"

  Courtney kept on walking. “You can cover me if you want, Alex.” She added, “If you’re sober enough.” That last would get his goat.

  Alex liked to boast that he could drink like a fish without any effect. He was kidding himself. When he was soused, he turned into a giddy idiot—or became mean.

  Courtney put him from her mind and concentrated on the farm.

  A red barn stood beyond the house, only part of it visible. There were half a dozen outbuildings, including one that Courtney took to be a chicken coop. There was a hog pen, too, but no sign of the hogs. An oak tree overspread a dog house, but no dog.

  “Maybe you’ll meet a new friend,” Courtney said to Gaga, who looked up at her with those adoring eyes.

  The clouds had grown darker, casting the farmhouse, and everything else, in somber shadow.

  The light, though still glowed in the third floor window.

  Courtney couldn’t see anyone moving around up there but she had the feeling that she was being watched.

  The road passed within a hundred feet of the front of the house. A large mailbox hung open, and empty.

  The barn, the coop, the other buildings—there was no sign of anyone, anywhere.

  Squaring her shoulders, Courtney started up a walk toward the front porch. An old-fashioned swing chair swayed slightly in the breeze, creaking now and then. A rocking chair sat in the far corner.

  Courtney tried to ignore the pounding of her heart and plastered a smile on her face. When she was midway along the walk, she called out, “Hello? Is anyone home?”

  There was no response from the house.

  But from the barn came a loud crash. Even though the double doors hung open, inside was pitch black.

  Courtney dreaded it would be another of the living dead, but nothing emerged.

  Courtney wondered where all the farm animals had gotten to. She was a city girl, but her parents had taken her to an uncle’s farm a few times, and there were chickens and cows and geese and whatnot all over the place.

  A possible answer occurred to her: a chemical cloud.

  She witnessed them firsthand in Minneapolis. An incoming missile would strike, but instead of an explosion, it spewed a thick green fog or mist that rapidly spread. Soon it would resemble a green cloud. That was when it would start to move as if alive, to crawl across the land swallowing everyone and everything in its path.

  Those it swallowed were either never seen again—dissolved alive, most people believed—or they were changed. Mutated. They emerged from the clouds covered with blisters and ravening to spill the blood of every living thing they encountered.

  Courtney hoped to God a green cloud hadn’t come rolling across the farm.

  She was almost to the porch when a curtain hanging in a front window moved—as if someone had been looking out and darted from sight.

  Cautiously climbing the steps, Courtney stepped to the door, and knocked. “Hello? Anyone home? I don’t mean you any harm.” She pressed her ear to the door. Was it her imagination, or did she hear the scuffle of hurried footsteps?

  “Hello! We’d very much like something to eat and drink if you can spare it.”

  The silence gnawed at her nerves.

  Moving to the end of the porch she scanned the red barn and the coop and other buildings.

  Nothing.

  Courtney returned to the door and knocked louder. She tried the knob but it was locked. Jiggling it, she “Please! Open up, will you?:”

  Over at the barn, something let out a bellow of rage and pain—and from its depths lumbered a monster.

  Courtney stepped to the rail for a better view.

  Once, it had been a bull. A huge black bull with horns that curved up and out. Sores and blisters covered its entire body, while green mucous oozed from its nose and mouth. Its eyes were red-rimmed furnaces of simmering fury. Snorting, it tore at the ground with a front hoof and glared about.

  Courtney froze. She hoped that the bull would go back in the barn. But no. It was staring toward the front yard.

  Courtney risked a glance and was racked by dismay. “No!” she gasped.

  Sally Ann, her father, and Billy were out near the mailbox. Sally Ann and Billy recognized the
danger and were imitating statues.

  Not Alex. He was drinking from his flask. He raised it to his mouth, lowered it, and raised it again, not seeming to care that the bull could see them.

  “You fool,” Courtney whispered.

  Sally Ann glanced at her father and said something and he laughed and took a few steps to one side and helped himself to another swig.

  The bull uttered another fierce bellow and tore at the ground, all the while shaking its huge head from side to side.

  Incredibly, Alex Dutfeld still didn’t seem to realize the peril he was in. Capping the flask, he slid it into a pocket, then gestured with the Remington shotgun. “You want some of this?” he taunted.

  Courtney couldn’t believe anyone could be so stupid. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was just the fact that Alex had never possessed much common sense.

  The bull charged.

  “Dad, run!” Sally Ann cried, and tried to go to him but Billy wrapped his arms around her and held fast.

  As for Alex, he was smiling and acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Taking another couple of steps, he raised the shotgun.

  Head down, spewing goo from both nostrils, the bull was a living locomotive. It covered the ground amazingly quick.

  By Courtney’s reckoning, about fifty feet separated them when Alex fired. The 12 gauge boomed and bucked and he scored a hit.

  The bull stumbled, recovered, and resumed its charge.

  Alex pumped the slide to feed a new shell into the chamber. He centered and fired and this time the bull pitched onto its front knees but it was instantly up again, its legs pumping.

  Alex worked the slide and fired a third time. He shot at the bull’s head.

  This time the bull barely slowed.

  Courtney recalled that the Remington held four rounds. Alex was down to his last shell.

  Grimly, Alex Dutfeld set himself and took deliberate aim. By now the bull was less than ten feet away. Alex fired and the bull reacted as if it had slammed into a wall. But it didn’t drop. Lunging, the pus-spattered monstrosity hooked its head up and in.