Eye Witness: Zombie

by Lederman, William

“Ace Harmann,” I replied. “What kind of name is ‘Murder’?”

  “I had fucked up parents. The name came in handy in school though. No one would mess with a guy named Murder,” he chuckled. “Is this your place?”

  I stood staring at the dead bodies surrounding me. “No,” I responded quietly, “How did you get in here?”

  “I was being pursued, and the front entrance was blocked. I used the fire escape to get up here. Have you cleared this place yet?”

  I stared at the large man taking him in. Six three at least, heavy muscles, thick neck. He reminded me of the man who played “Brutal” in The Green Mile. His skin-tight white tee shirt was stippled with specks of dried blood. His tan khaki pants were tucked tightly into his jump boots. Strapped to his right thigh under a holstered pistol dwelled a large hunting knife; on his left hip rested a matching pistol, maybe nine millimeter. He carried a black, bulging backpack on his shoulders. Medium brown hair, greasy, dangled in his face. He brushed it out of the way, revealing gray, intelligent eyes.

  “Hey, buddy,” Murder said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You all right?”

  “Huh? No...no, I’m not. I just killed my son...I mean, he turned...” I collapsed to my hands and knees weeping, whispering Andy’s name. Not knowing what to say, Murder stood, staring at me with sympathy, the expression of a man that knew how it felt to have to take down a loved one all too well.

  I stood, composed myself, and said, “My son and three of those things are in the next room. All dead.” I explained what had happened with my wife and daughter, mother and father; how I had followed my son to this building only to find him ravaged and transformed.

  We exited the bedroom, entering the living room. Murder scanned the area, noticing what was left of the two zombies on the couch, and then rested his eyes on Andy. “Who would keep these things chained up like this?” Murder questioned, disgusted. “Well, we should clear this floor, search for some supplies. I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and I need rest.”

  “You can do what you want. I need to find my wife and daughter.”

  “Look, man, you can’t just go runnin’ around in those streets by yourself. You’ll get ripped to pieces. You should eat, get some rest. We can come up with a plan, and I’ll help you find them.”

  “Why would you risk your life to help me?”

  Murder looked away from me, “I don’t have anyone left. They’re all dead.” He met my eyes, “Besides, two heads are better than one, right?”

  I half smiled, then, seeing my son, the smile quickly vanished. “Okay. We can work together.”

  Murder nodded, slowly opened the door to the hallway, being as quiet as he could. He peeked his head around the corner, looked up and down the hall, saw nothing. “Hall’s empty. You ready to go?”

  “Could you give me a minute...alone?”

  Murder nodded, stepping into the hall. I knelt beside my boy, the flow of tears beginning anew, stinging my eyes. “I love you, Andy. I’m so sorry I wasn’t fast enough. I’ll find your mother and sister and I’ll get the bastards who caused this! I’ll make them pay!” Kissing my son’s cheek one last time I said, “Goodbye, Andy. I’ll be with you soon.”

  I stepped into the hall and looked at Murder. “So what do we do?” I asked.

  “First let’s check these rooms here on this floor, see what we can find. Then, we’ll check the second and first floors. If it turns out to be safe enough, we’ll rest up a bit,” Murder replied.

  “Why don’t we split up? We’ll get done quicker that way.”

  “It’d be best if we stick together, watch each other’s back. Cool?”

  “Yeah...cool.”

  “Okay. Let’s start at the end of the hall there and work our way toward the stairwell.” Murder turned, started to move toward the end of the hall then stopped, turning back to face me. “Ace, I’m sorry about your son. And the rest of your family, too. We’ll find them. Don’t you worry!” A pause, then, “Here, take this,” Murder said, handing one of his pistols to me. “That there’s a Springfield XD-M 9mm, nineteen round mag, hollow point ammunition, and I got plenty of ammo for these babies here in my pack,” he said proudly. “Okay, let’s go.”

  With Murder in the lead, we cautiously made our way to the last door on the left. Bright afternoon sunlight shone through the window at the end of the hall, illuminating our path across the wood planked floor. Halting at the door, Murder stood motionless, listening for any signs of movement on the other side. Satisfied that it was safe enough, he opened the creaky door to a clean, well organized apartment.

  The living room, bathed with sunlight from the balcony window, was all styled in black and white. Black walls, white carpet. Black tables, white lamps. A large, black leather wrap-around couch was the only sitting furniture in the room. The large, reddish-brown stain on the floor screamed loudly in the colorless room, all but leaping from the perfectly white carpet. Murder knelt, examining the blood. “Not fresh, but not old either. Check in the pantry. See if there’s anything worth taking.”

  The kitchen was one of the newer styles, black granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, large and open, giving a full view of the living room. I checked the pantry, found a few canned items: corn, green beans, peas, more corn. I removed all the non-perishables, placing them on the counter next to the refrigerator. Curious, I opened the fridge, thinking there might be something worth taking from inside. “Fuck!” I yelled, shocked, turning away from the refrigerator immediately.

  “What? What is it?” Murder asked, alarmed.

  “There’s a fuckin’ head in there! It looked at me! Fuck! It’s one of those fuckin’ things, man!”

  “Calm down, Ace. Forget about it,” Murder said in a calm, smooth voice. “Did you find anything in the pantry?”

  Breathing heavily, I replied, “A few canned goods. I need something to put them in, though.”

  “I saw a backpack hanging next to the front door. Use that.”

  Retrieving the backpack from the wall, I filled it with the items I had found, avoiding the refrigerator entirely. When finished, I placed the bag next to the front door.

  While I was checking the kitchen, Murder searched the single bedroom and came up empty. “Nothin’ in here but fucked up decor,” Murder chuckled. “Let’s get going.”

  Through the hall, in the next room, waited three cadavers; a woman and two small boys, sitting on a couch, bullet wounds in their skulls; dried, spongy brain matter and crusty blood encompassed them. “Looks like a murder-suicide,” I commented.

  “Most likely. I’ve seen lots of that since this mess started. People feel they can’t go on in this new, chaotic, dead world; don’t want their kids exposed or raised in this shit. I saw a guy blow his daughter’s brains out, but when he turned the gun on himself, he couldn’t do it. He’d had a gangrenous looking bite mark on his upper arm. The infection had driven him mad. He started running down the street, screaming at the top of his lungs. He was runnin’ past this alleyway entrance and one of those bastard zombies grabbed him by the hair, pulling him down hard. I could hear the poor guy laughing! Like having his stomach torn open and seeing his own insides was the funniest thing in the world. Didn’t laugh for long though...”

  “How could he have done that to his child? There was still hope for her, even in a world like this. Cowardly bastard,” I stated, disgusted.

  “Hope huh? Well, I gave up on hope a long time ago,” Murder added.

  “Not me. As long as I still draw breath, then there’s hope. I won’t give up.”

  “Surprised you’re still positive after what you’ve been through,” Murder replied.

  “Without hope I’d lose the rest of my family. I’m going to find them. I don’t care what it takes.”

  “And I’m with you, Ace.”

  “Thanks, Murder.”

  “Well...same routine as the last place. You get the kitchen, I’ll take the bedroom,” Murder said, heading off to the room.


  The door to the bedroom was partially open; Murder tried to peer inside, but the room was enveloped with shadows. He pushed the door inward, his knife at the ready. He avoided using his gun whenever possible, so as not to attract any flesh-eaters. The windows were covered with aluminum foil, dousing the room in darkness. Murder unslung his backpack, opened it, and retrieved a Mag-Lite flashlight. Re-shouldering his pack, he clicked on the flashlight, scanning the darkness. Hesitantly, he made his way into the room.

  I went through the cabinets with no luck. “Nothing,” I mumbled closing the last cabinet door. A gunshot suddenly went off in the bedroom, startling me. My heartbeat quickened to a frantic pace as I made my way to the room, drawing my new pistol.

  Stopping at the entrance, I surveyed the room, pistol at the ready. Murder stood over a man, his flashlight illuminating a rotten, putrid face, lying on his back, a smoking hole in his forehead.

  “He almost got me,” Murder said, slightly shaken. “Lost my knife in the struggle; had to shoot the bastard.”

  I looked from Murder to the body, back to Murder. “Are you okay? Were you bitten?” I asked.

  “I said he almost got me. I’m fine,” Murder replied, picking up his knife.

  Howls and moans coursed through the front door from somewhere down the hall. “Shit! That gunshot just told every zombie in the vicinity where we’re at! Come on! Let’s get out of here!” I screamed, alarmed.

  “Right behind ya,” Murder replied. I stopped and raised my gun as a naked man came careening through the doorway. I fired, and was out the door before the dispatched zombie could hit the floor, Murder right on my heels.

  Six zombies roamed the hall, probably more in the rooms. We fired slowly and deliberately, painting the walls red, dropping all of them quickly, while fleeing towards the stairwell.

  A woman, not much more than a skeleton, lurched out of the second door from the stairwell, snatching my arm. Before she could sink her teeth in, though, a knife slid into her temple with a soft thunk; her face went slack and she dropped to the floor.

  “Thanks,” I said, out of breath. Then, looking past Murder, I bellowed “Get DOWN!” Murder began to drop as I raised the gun to fire. The bullet sped past his head enroute to hitting its target directly between the eyes. I helped Murder to his feet as he thanked me.

  We made our way to the stairwell without further incident. I turned the knob, pushed open the door and stood face to face with my father. Face flayed and chewed, an eyeball bobbing on his cheek, Herman Harmann moaned and launched, mouth stretching open, ready to mutilate me. I instinctively stepped out of the way causing my father to tumble to the floor. Three more zombies shambled in after Herman, locking their sights on Murder and I, growling with hunger. “That’s...Th—that’s my father,” I managed in a shaky voice.

  “Move!” Murder shouted, stepping past me, raising his weapon. With Herman’s head in his sights, Murder fired, spraying brain, blood, and skull fragments across the floor and wall. The three other zombies tripped over my dead father, all falling to the floor. One of them, his head rotten and decomposed, hit the ground and cracked his skull, spilling its mushy, brown contents. Murder quickly destroyed the other two with short, quick thrusts of his blade, conserving ammo when possible.

  Murder took the lead, hastily heading down the stairwell, bursting through the ground level door, gun poised at eye level, ready to eliminate anything in our path. We pushed the couch, which I had earlier used as a barricade, out of the way, revealing the main entrance. We opened the door onto the dead world outside. I could see walking corpses wandering aimlessly through the street. It’s a good thing they’re slow and stupid, I thought.

  Murder stepped to the door, surveying the street. Behind us more moans and groans drifted down from the stairwell. “We better get going before those fuckers come pouring out of that stairwell and trap us in here,” Murder said quietly. “Here’s what we’ll do,” he continued, “on the next street over, to the south, there’s a pawn shop. They got lots of weapons and ammunition and shit like that. If we can make it there we can barricade the door, stock up on weapons, and come up with a plan. If it’s safe enough, maybe we could catch a little rest, too. Sound good to you?” Murder asked.

  “Yeah, but what about all these fuckers in the street? There’s too many of them.”

  “Get that machete of yours ready. We’ll book it past these pus brains. They’re slow, clumsy. If we’re fast, and play it smart, we’ll make it. You ready?”

  “Okay,” I said, without confidence.

  “Stay close,” Murder said, exploding into the street just as the undead burst through the stairwell door. He was fast and agile; evading grabbing hands and hungry mouths with ease. I hesitated, but only for a split second, before racing into the crowd of dead and mottled flesh.

  The smell was excruciating, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. A hand snatched the collar of my shirt, nearly pulling me down. I spun, bringing my machete down on an arm that used to belong to a pretty blonde woman, severing it from her body. Regaining my footing, I plunged further into the horde, knocking zombies this way and that. I could see Murder ahead, slashing and stabbing with his hunting knife, leaving a trail of incapacitated and lifeless bodies in his wake.

  The zombies were screaming and howling with excitement as we ran by, attracting more and more of their kindred. I saw an emaciated woman cradling a small undead baby. Her face nonexistent; just a skull with bits of flesh and tendons remained. One large, round eye followed me as I passed. The baby’s abdomen had been eviscerated, reminding me of my previous nightmare.

  To my left I glimpsed a stumbling, deteriorated cop still clutching his night stick, ready to keep the peace. To my right a confused, roaming clown with a blood painted face. Directly ahead a bloody Mickey Mouse costume, it’s abdomen shredded, intestines dangling; leaking excrement trailed the monstrosity. For some reason that was the most frightening to me; the undead Mickey Mouse. As I rushed by, I decapitated the re-animated Disney character, not missing a step.

  “Hurry, Ace!” Murder barked over the screams of the mob. “We’re almost there!”

  I picked up speed, ferociously hacking everything in my path. At one point I thought that I had glimpsed my mother, neck sliced open, oozing blood. I quickly averted my attention elsewhere. As I ran, fighting these monstrosities of nature, I thought of my wife and daughter. Please be okay please be okay, I chanted repeatedly in my mind.

  After battling our way through droves of ghouls, we finally arrived at the pawn shop. The door and windows were reinforced with black, steel security bars. Murder peered in through the windows seeing only darkness; he tried the door. “Dammit! It’s locked,” he snarled, irritated. The undead were beginning to close in on us.

  “Let’s go around back, see if there’s another way in,” I suggested, already jogging for the side of the building. Murder followed, dropping two zombies with his hunting knife en route.

  The back of the pawn shop was somewhat vacant of the dead. Not for long, I thought. I rushed to the back door and yanked the handle, but to no avail. “Shit,” I cursed, frustrated. Hungry moans and howls erupted from the walking dead as they crept around the building, catching sight of me and Murder.

  “Over there! We can use that,” Murder said excitedly, pointing to a ladder leading to the roof. “We can get inside from up there. Looks like our luck is changing.”

  Once on the roof we scanned the surroundings for any dangers. I went to the edge of the building and peered over the side. The undead had swelled in number, swarming the building, their rotten smell drifting up to meet me. The sight made me dizzy and slightly nauseated.

  “Here,” Murder hollered, standing next to a maintenance door, gripping the handle. I hurried to his side. As Murder twisted the handle, the latch clicked audibly and the door swung inward. Murder stepped into the entrance, consumed by shadow. I followed suit, unaware that I was descending to my death.

  We followed the stairway to a
storage room. Televisions, radios, guitars, and other useless items of the past crowded the area. “You need a new TV?” Murder joked, smiling.

  “Shhh! Listen,” I urged. A rapid, high-pitched, grunting, moaning sound was coming from the other end of the storage room. “Sounds like someone might be hurt,” I said racing to the opposite side of the room.

  At the other end awaited a closed door. “Probably the office,” Murder whispered. The sounds were growing louder as we approached. Turning the knob I pushed open the door.

  A short, paunchy, balding man stood inside, pants at his ankles, his hairy, pimply ass thrusting back and forth. I was stunned. The man was fucking a small, gagged undead girl tied to a desk with brittle rope. She had to have been no older than eleven when she had joined the ranks of the living dead. The smell in the room was rancid, fishy. I threw up for the third time that day.

  Murder stepped forward, gripped the chubby man by his shirt collar, and threw him to the floor. Surprised, the man let out a womanish squeal. The perverted freak reached for his gun which lay on the desk next to the gagged zombie. Murder kicked him hard in the face, knocking him out. A tooth popped out of the man’s mouth coming to rest on his chest.

  “Jesus-fucking-Christ!” I screamed looking from the man to the zombie to Murder. “I mean what the fuck! Who does that kind of sick shit? Holy fuck! What should we do with him? And with her for that matter?”

  “Kill her. I’ll take care of this piece of shit,” Murder said, approaching the balding man on the floor.

  I unsheathed my saber, stepping in for a death blow. What happened next happened very fast to me and Murder. The balding man on the floor sat up, plunged a small knife into Murder’s thigh, causing Murder to stumble and fall on top of the zombie child, knocking her off of the desk. The ropes that had bound her snapped with a soft pop. Murder fell on his face, busting his lips.

  The balding man leapt onto Murder’s back hammering his fists into his head. I moved to help Murder, but the zombie grabbed my leg pulling me to floor to join the party. The undead child’s gag had fallen loose. She quickly crawled toward me, her fingers clawing and scraping across the floor; the nail on her middle finger bent backward, snapping and tearing loose from her finger, pus oozed from the wound. She continued toward her prey, heedless of her newly disfigured finger.