Still Alive (Book 7): Zombie Perdition

by Bonds, Javan

  This can’t be Mississippi. Everything looks the same as it did yesterday. “I haven’t heard any banjos or anyone squealing like a pig.” I laughed.

  He acted offended and gasped. “Deliverance in Georgia, mufucka!”

  Well, excuse me, ma’am. Yeah, I know I’m from Alabama. Alabamians are made fun of all the time for being toothless, redneck, cousin fucking inbreeds, and it’s just fun to poke another state for the same thing.

  I had no clue what county we were in. Wait, does the state even have counties? It could be one of those fucked up places like Louisiana and have parishes. Of course, I hadn’t studied the map well enough to even know how long we’d be in Mississippi. I looked in the direction the ship was facing and raised an eyebrow. It was a joke! Was I really hearing banjos?

  ☠☠☠

  A few boring miles further downriver, a man walking down the shoreline began a short conversation with, “Hey! Who y’all? Pirates?”

  Shit, I keep forgetting to change the dam pirate flag. “No not really. This ship is a replica pirate ship, the Viva Ancora. It used to be my job to sail up and down the rivers and….”

  “I seen that! Always wanted to get me a tour!”

  Holy God! There was only one zompocalypse, basically wiping the slate clean. How many more world consuming disasters need to occur to make people stop worrying about a fucking tourist attraction?

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, living on a boat is great. The humidity is thick enough to drink, and we’ve eaten pretty much nothing but fish since May 1st.”

  The scraggly yokel chuckled. “Well, hell, boys! Y’all come eat some dinner with us.”

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  I must digress for a moment. If you’re not from the South, the term dinner doesn’t specifically refer to the third meal of the day. I typically call the meal around noon lunch. But I’m aware, particularly old South hillbillies, and senior citizens in general, refer to it as dinner.

  No matter what age, every single person below the Mason-Dixon Line refers to, or at least knows what another is saying when they used the reference, what most call dinner as supper. Fuck you if you don’t like it, that’s just the way it is! Regardless, by the time of day, I was certain the good old boy spitting streams of tobacco juice into the water was asking us to come eat lunch with him. Sorry, just making that clear. Back to the story.

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  Remember Duck Dynasty? This guy looked just like that... and spoke with more of a drunken slur than Walt. You remember Walt don’t you? He was the old high school buddy who was in my first journal that I ran across in the Walmart and later became The Sacrifice. But this guy had a pot belly. Not because he was starving. Overall, he looked pretty well fed and like he just finished a beer. I imagine he and Walt would’ve become instant friends.

  I had to ask the question. “Y’all got guns?”

  He scoffed. “Do I look hungry? Bet yer ass we got guns! But we ain’t gonna shoot y’all. We coulda done that a long time ago.”

  Pointing to the dam we were approaching he said, “On the other side of that there lock, y’all gonna see a pier. Get off down there.”

  ORLY? Just one more block of concrete teaming with zombies between me and food that’s not fish? Well, maybe there’s a chance my name won’t be drawn. I was only forced to go on the last million missions!

  Usually, I wasn’t trusting of anyone; especially creepy bearded rednecks on the riverbank. I didn’t know why this guy put off a vibe of harmlessness. There was no way to know how large of a group he was in. Seeing anyone besides just the bastards I’ve been stuck on this damn boat with would be awesome.

  Plus he offered to feed us! I was ready to hug the guy... if he had anything but fish. Well, I don’t think I would feel safe getting that physically close to him. I could picture him grabbing my ass and telling me I had a pretty mouth!

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  34

  I Watched My Dream

  World Crumble like Clay

  Virginia pushed open the Hooters kitchen door to uncover a dark, moist cave, appearing as if it was beaten out from millennia of water droplets. Just as being always surrounded by peevie excrement had numbed the slaves’ sense of smell, it also desensitized that of the infected to pick up the scent of tasty blood nearby. The humans didn’t realize they were standing in the middle of a hive until getting sight of the unnatural dugout. Likewise, the plague carriers didn’t know there was fresh meat only a few feet away until also catching a glimpse of the treat.

  The battle was finally on for the humans.

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  Howling, barking, and chittering sounded. But calls for the horde, however, would go unanswered. The humans on the downtown side of the building heard the animal calls. They were in the process of throwing canisters of bleach and bottles of beer over the top of the structure. Even a call from their brethren wouldn’t bring peevies through the atrocious substance. It would take much more than just a beckoning for assistance to bring a swarm.

  The leader of this pack came to that realization.

  Whether actually witnessing pale ones performing this act on other hives, or just merely understanding they were cunning animals, it knew the capabilities of the creatures. It rushed back behind its fellows to what they were instinctively protecting. With a gleam in its eye, it unscrewed the top and tipped the drum over.

  Now, assistance would be coming, regardless of the disinfectant.

  We blue ones also crafty!

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  Rawlings could see one of the males moving back behind the others. Are they protecting something? In the near pitch, he was completely unable to see what the monster was doing. He could only detect it was reaching around something large. A second later, he heard a crash and a sound of rushing water. If one ever dropped a full bucket of any liquid, they knew exactly what the noise was.

  Involuntarily, the former paramedic inhaled sharply. “Fuck me. Vinegar!” he shouted as his comrades simultaneously caught the scent.

  Frantic shrieks sounded in the distance, far past the outskirts of downtown. Initially, just a few were coming. That quickly became ten dozens, multitudes of starving creatures. Their stampeding charging was nearly as loud as their insatiable, agitated cries. Five defenders of The Nash were about to be pitted against a near-infinite supply of the infected scourge. Who would prevail?

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  Bare feet smacking on the pavement is a distinct sound, especially when those feet were so many. And even more notable when they’re the one thing you don’t want to hear. The creatures still weren’t fond of ultraviolet light, having been strictly nocturnal until around a month after May Day. Regardless, the back door of the building opened countless times as reanimants swarmed into the enclosure. They would tolerate nearly anything for their favorite treat.

  All five humans tentatively backpedaled out the swinging door. Not having eyes in the back of his head, Paul bumped into a stainless steel table, pushing in a drawer. It popped out, exposing a few untouched kitchen appliances and tools. One of these was a grill starter. Rawlings turned to get his hand on it when he noticed a small, black encrusted propane tank underneath the table. He also bent down to scoop this up before continuing reverse ambulation. I can use these!

  Each member of the first recon team carried a sixteen-ounce water bottle full of alcohol. With the rays of the morning sun on their backs, they stepped out into the open dining area. All of them emptied the bottles on their heads. It wouldn't guarantee they would remain untouched, especially not with a massive gaggle of zombies approaching, but it was one of their only defenses. Unable to escape, all they could do was limber up in preparation.

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  Guttural, incessant barking and roars came from the other side of the kitchen door. In a primitive form of communication, the newcomers were alerted of what lay in the restaurant. After a moment, deep sniffing could be heard, followed by elated, hungry howls. The newcomers had just realized the presence of pale ones. />
  “Here, take these!” Keim started grabbing pictures and flat-screen TVs from the walls and tossing them to her comrades. A light bulb came on over their collective head. Ripping the backing and frames from the pictures, they threw the glass to shatter on the floor in front of the kitchen door. Smashing the TV screens, they slung the large shards of glass in with the rest. Now, there was at least another impediment for the peevies.

  Banging the entrance open, the animals let out inhuman growls, catching a glimpse of fresh meat. These must have already got a taste of vinegar and were pushing forward. Their brethren would soon be joining them. Prey was now within reach.

  Blue hands and feet were sliced deeply as their kindred pushed them forward. Staying upright was no longer possible. The immediate area now doused in slick, infected crimson, and terrible pain. Some monsters simply fell over, only to be shredded by pieces of jagged torture in new bodily regions. Being trampled on by their fellows only drove the shards deeper into their skin. Panicked screaming began, but was ignored due to the craving to spread the infection.

  Helpless screams of a slashed animal came from below the peevies trudging atop their downed equals. With the cutting glass under carpeting of undead, the mobile creatures surged onward. Being left-handed and right-handed, respectively, Bill and Robert readied for a game of cricket. The balls coming at them were a lot smaller, though.

  At nearly the same instant, they both slammed their bats into two different infected craniums. What seemed to be more pinkish, stinking, scrambled brains drenched in watery ketchup than could possibly fit inside, burst from the weakened skulls. A wet crack sounded as the brittle brain casings shattered into uncountable pieces. Blood rocketed from the basically decapitated, twitching corpses.

  “This building’s gonna have to be burned. Never get that stink out!” Robert chuckled as he readied for his next opponent.

  Coming at him upright, the beast took the piece of wood across the chest. The sternum and ribs quickly gave way, severing bronchi and other vital connections to the brain. The peevie attempted to gasp, coming up with nothing more than sucking air into the mostly collapsed throat. It toppled onto its back, vainly trying to suck air into its bleeding chest. Confusion would be its last state, not understanding how the pale one stole its breath.

  As his friend continued hammering the revenants, Bonar slammed his own bat down onto the right shoulder of a charging nudist. Collarbone, shoulder muscle, and anything substantial violently shot downward. The malnourished lung exploded under the pressure with a depressing wheeze. Ribs on the right side splintered, coming into contact with something as hard as deteriorated muscle before the weighted bat broke cleanly through them. Once reaching the pelvis, it finally came to a halt.

  What seemed like three times the bodyweight of the animal rolled from the ruptured intestines. Having basically chopped one blue arm off with a blunt object, Bill only backed away, watching the animal fall. It weakly screamed as its asshole sputtered out a final cry. Somehow, the colon was still chocked full of Oreo cookie batter.

  The crack of McInally’s slugger splitting down the middle was an earth-shattering sound. Having killed so many ghouls, it was permanently finished. Seeing this, Patti Rauccio moved up to throw her bat into the battle. Unlike the other two, she wielded metal. Her blunt aluminum definitely wouldn’t be splintering,

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  Plague carriers began encircling the man holding what used to be a weapon. Clearly losing the battle, McInally attempted to stab the ones within reach. So many blue hands grabbed him at the same time; he couldn’t stop them from lifting him. Monsters turned as a unit, toting their new prize into the kitchen. He screamed for some type of mercy from anything.

  Bonar and Rauccio both charged the naked backs of the retreating enemy. Bill slammed his piece into a ghoul, above the right hip and just below the ribs. Ruptured organs forcefully squirted from the anus. So hard, the rectum also prolapsed. He gagged, watching much more than merely dung shooting from the ass hole. At least, that would be the last excretion from a now inside out colon.

  Being the cornerstone of support for the prize they were carrying away, the doubled over ghoul no longer aided the lift. As Robert toppled, he rolled in the air, now facing the floor as he was falling. A piece of broken glass conveniently protruded up from one of the downed reanimated corpses. The jagged spike of nearly invisible death drove straight into his eyeball.

  Brains squirted from his orifices, as he was quickly displaced. Robert McInally never even knew what hit him. His death was painless. Because of that, others would have to suffer. The Audience needed unbelievable violence if they were to finish the chapter satisfied.

  Patti was surprised as her bat stopped, mid-swing. She lifted her eyes to see a somehow still muscular reanimant holding both its blue hands around the body of her slugger. With a growl, it yanked her tool from her grasp. Obviously, the thing knew what it had and deftly tossed it in the air before reaching to grab the handle.

  In one swift movement, the animal brought the bat up with all its might. Aluminum clanked, impacting Patti’s chin and immediately splitting the jawbone. Nearly every tooth in her head sprang from her mouth as blood ran like a faucet. Her upper teeth were forced through the roof of her mouth and into her sinuses. No longer able to form an O with her mouth, frantic yelling came from her throat.

  Before she could do anything more than stumbling back a step, the zombie reared again with both arms and slammed the bat into the side of her head. Bloodied brains squirted from her right ear as the left was now behind her rapidly shifting nose. It didn’t take a medical doctor to ascertain she had just lost her mind. The heart still beats for a few dying thuds, pushing precious crimson out onto the floor. Even though it hungered insatiably, the semi-intelligent beast abstained from diving in for a tasty meal. More prey was currently present.

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  Enraged at the loss of both comrades, Bill threw himself at the zombie, Louisville slugger raised. Before it could crush bone and vital organs, the unnatural creature lifted its own weapon in a defensive pose. Wood made a hollow crack as it slammed against metal. The human was dumbfounded. A peevie... that can use weapons? What the bloody fuck?

  When Bonar pulled his stick back to make another swing at the monster, the peevie used its own stick to smash his testicles. He simply dropped his bat and fell to his knees in indescribable pain. Bill’s balls were definitely crushed into paper thin scabs. Even after the most extensive surgery, his penis could never be used like it was intended again. Regardless, he wouldn’t be around long enough to have any kind of medical procedure.

  Looking up at the demon, it stared back with a wicked grin. This is it. Nothing I can do. Well, at least I won’t be infected. Maybe those other two’ll avenge me!

  Judging the weight of its soon-to-be meal, the creature tucked the bat under one of Bill’s arms and lifted gently. Deciding the prize was worth the effort, it sucked in through its teeth before raising the weapon two-handed over its own head. Silently, it swung down to the ground in front of it. Bill Bonar was gone in a flash.

  Uselessly, Rawlings screamed as he watched one of his best friend’s life snuffed out. “Nooo!”

  First colliding with the top of his forehead, the aluminum shaft broke through the thin skin easily. Brain casing posed more resistance, but not enough to halt the downward thrust of the instrument. Gray matter and dark red blood burst from the opening as the bat continued driving through his head. Eyeballs disappeared when they were forced down, popping against the upper teeth. In the next millisecond, those chompers were forced from the jaw, embedding into the tongue and gums. Nearly in slow motion, the piece of sporting equipment broke through the lower mandible and exited what used to be the cranium.

  The body stayed rigid on its knees for a moment, then slowly toppled over to the side. With a sinister grin, the evil blunatic brought its weapon up to its face. Tongue sticking out of its mouth, it ran the gore covered cylindrical instrumen
t across it. Paul could see sadistic satisfaction in its yellow eyes.

  The man wasn’t able to do anything but rush at the target of his visceral hate. Screaming as he came, it prepared itself for defense. At the last second, Rawlings dropped down to slide through the slick offal. His machete hit the peevie in both shins, surprisingly slicing through weakened skeletal structure. Clearly, the zombie was able to keep well fed enough to see muscle definition, but must’ve been lacking in calcium.

  In shock and pain, the animal could only squeal as it fell backwards, leg stumps rocketing crimson. The survivor raised and quickly turned, chopping the beast into unrecognizable mush. He bellowed at it between thwacks. “This is for Bill... and Robert... and every... fucking... one of us... you... bloody... piece... of... shite!”

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  After dicing the satanic scourge into uncountable bits for who knows how long, Rawlings looked up, soaked in body fluid. Expecting Virginia to be staring incredulously, he saw no one. Regaining his senses, he rushed forward, looking to her last known location. About the time he called out her name, he noticed her fire axe lying on the floor with a bloodied spot on the blunt side. Did they knock her out?

  Charging in that direction, he took in at least a handful of peevies carrying her limp body into the kitchen, through the door behind the bar. He bent forward to pick up the ax, quickly moving forward to throw it over handed at the front of the group. Like life was a screenplay, the firemen’s tool made a beeline end over end, just as the one that checkmated Miss Cassandra.

  It drove directly into the neck of a zombie walking backwards carrying, Keim’s injured head in its hands. The blade sliced into arteries and throat before pushing the cranium completely away from the rest of the body. It was halted by the doorframe beyond. The orbless corpse stopped moving, went rigid, sprayed a final chunky, black cloud behind it, and dropped into a stinking heap. Head of the snake had just been removed.