A Zombie Anthology
A Wild Wolf Publication
Published by Wild Wolf Publishing in 2011
Copyright © 2011 with Individual Authors
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.
First print
All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead or undead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-907954-05-4
www.wildwolfpublishing.com
Other Zombie Titles From
Wild Wolf Publishing
Dead Beat (2010) by Remy Porter
Rise & Walk (2011) by Gregory Solis
Written works by the contributors to this anthology include; Night of the Living Dead, Pontypool, Necropolis Rising, Dead Fall, The Kult, Domain of the Dead, The War of the Worlds: Aftermath, Sinema, The Killing Moon, the Joe Hunter thrillers, Turn of the Sentry, Unlikely Killer, Lucky Stiff, Down the Road, The Zombie’s Survival Guide, Santa Claws is Coming to Town, The Estuary, the Vampire Apocalypse novels, The Invasion, Island Life, Night Fighters, Apocalypse of the Dead, Dead City, Quarantined, Flesh Eaters, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Flu, Dead Beat, Undead World trilogy, World War of the Dead, Bigfoot War, Maneater, Zombie Britannica and Prey to name just a few.
Special thanks to Peter Fussey for the amazing cover artwork.
FOREWORD
Wild Wolf Publishing has gathered together the most comprehensive assemblage of emerging and established authors in the zombie sub-genre. From legends like Night of the Living Dead co-writer, John Russo to exciting new talents like Remy Porter and widely respected established talents such as Shaun Jeffrey, David Dunwoody, Joe McKinney, Rod Glenn and A P Fuchs, this anthology really does have them all!
WE’VE all probably had a holiday from hell at some point in our lives, be it the brochure neglecting to mention the hotel was a building site, or the all-you-can-eat buffet made you live on the toilet that was just a hole in the floor for three days, while a six-packed Spanish dive instructor seduced your wife on a boat half a mile off the coast. Obviously I’m not still bitter, and this was purely a made up example.
For me, possibly the one bad thing that hasn’t happened on one holiday or another is a zombie apocalypse. This is unfortunate in some respects as then I’d actually be able to score a poolside deckchair off certain non-specific European holiday makers for once*.
But joking xenophobia aside, and back in the reality that my psychiatrist has worked hard with a cocktail of drugs to maintain, I know that zombies on holiday may not happen in my lifetime. In the meantime, this collection of stunningly original zombie stories from an array of old hands and fresh talent will have to do.
This is an Anglo-American zombie collection of epic proportions. If you want the best undead stories of the year you have them here. This is the quintessential holiday read.
Remy Porter, February 2011
* Don’t mention the war
CONTENTS
Dark Inside By Shaun Jeffrey
Squawk By Remy Porter
Jennifer By Iain McKinnon
Cherry By Tony Wright
A Side of Cranberry Sauce By Clyde Wolfe
Dig By Lee Kelly
Apocalypse Noo By Vallon Jackson
Thanksgiving Feast By A.M. Boyle
Oatmeal Cookies By Eric Dimbleby
In The End By R. M. Cochran
Naked Fear By Tonia Brown
Undead Side of the Moon By Lyle Perez-Tinics
A Change is as Good as a Rest By Tom Johnstone
Storm Coming Down By Iain S Paton
Rockets’ Red Glare By Bowie V Ibarra
Zombie World Death Perception By Calvin A. L. Miller II
School’s Out By Derek Gunn
Guises By S. Michael Nash
Ladykiller By Ricki Thomas
Daddy Dearest By Dave Jeffery
Home for the Zombi-Days By A. P. Fuchs
Roman Holiday By David Dunwoody
Larry and Hank’s Big Dead Fishing Adventure By Eric S Brown
Home Is The Sailor, Home From The Sea By William Meikle
Burj By Nigel Hall
A Dark Moon Honeymoon By Rob Smith
The Last Trip Together By John McCuaig
The Day The Music Died By Joe McKinney
Wabigoon By James Cheetham
The Four Of July By Shawn M Riddle
Where Moth and Rust Destroy By Thomas Emson
The Zombie Whisperer By Bob Lock
The Day I Discovered The Truth About The Man In The Red Suit By R. Phillip Roberts
Crossover By Tony Burgess
December In Florida By Asher Wismer
One Dead Whore By Wayne Simmons
Seahouses Slaughterhouse By Rod Glenn
A special bonus short story by Night of the Living Dead co-writer, John Russo ‘The Walk-In’
An exclusive excerpt from the screenplay for the forthcoming film sequel to Pontypool written by Tony Burgess
DARK INSIDE
By
Shaun Jeffrey
I once thought dying was the worst that could happen.
Then I came back …
10.15 a.m. – July 18
Stood on the bow of the cruise ship, Silver Surf, I performed my best impression of Leonardo DiCaprio from the film, Titanic.
“I’m the king of the world,” I shouted, much to my little brother’s amusement. He covered his mouth with his hand and giggled. The sea breeze animated his mop of sandy coloured hair like a strange sea anemone. I think it amused him more because I’m his sister; everything I do makes him laugh.
I liked making him laugh.
A couple of passengers looked at me with distaste, perhaps thinking my reference to a film concerning an ill-fated liner inappropriate, but they could go swivel.
The wind had messed my long blond hair, and as I stepped away from the bow I brushed a strand out of my eyes and hooked it behind my ear. The sea breeze had made my eyes water slightly and the ship’s structure offered only relative protection.
If the truth be told, I hadn’t been looking forward to the holiday. It was my parents’ idea; I imagined the ship would be like an old people’s home. But luckily my preconceptions had been wrong as there were a number of young people onboard and to my surprise and relief I had enjoyed it so far. There was plenty to do. The ship had two showrooms, a sports court, four swimming pools, library, pizzeria, steakhouse, casino, hamburger grill and shops galore. A floating town, inhabited by 1,950 passengers and crew.
Out of the passengers, one boy in particular had caught my eye. Tanned and sporty with short brown hair, he looked drop-dead gorgeous and I felt sure he would pluck up the courage to speak to me – if he didn’t, then I would have to make the first move. Life’s too short to miss out.
“What’s that?” Jake asked, bringing me out of my reverie.
I looked where he was pointing and saw a small boat floating in our path. Although difficult to see clearly from our position and distance, it looked abandoned.
Noticing a steward nearby, I called him over and pointed the boat out. He thanked me for my keen eye, and hurried away to report the vessel.
Even though I knew it took a mile to stop the ship, it wasn’t long befor
e I felt us slowing, and I watched as they launched a boat to investigate Jake’s sighting.
10.57am
The unscheduled slowing of the ship generated a lot of interest, and by the time the launch returned, towing the small boat, a number of people had gathered on the deck to watch.
Hard to see clearly from where we stood, I grabbed Jake’s hand and led him through the crowd and down to where I imagined they would dock (I had seen hatches in the lower decks that were used to ferry supplies from the islands). In the back of my mind, I remembered something about a person who saves property at sea being entitled to a reward, and as Jake spotted it first, I felt any reward should come his way.
11.24am
When we arrived, a great deal of commotion came from the men gathered around the boat. I don’t know why, but my heart felt like a punch bag under attack.
“Hey, what do you kids think you’re doing here?”
I turned to face a gruff looking man with a bald head and a pockmarked face. Being called a kid really annoyed me. I’m sixteen, but I think I look older. My figure often draws admiring glances, and the bikini top I wore today only just covered my breasts.
“It was my brother and me that spotted the boat,” I said. As I spoke, I noticed the gaze of his grey eyes stray toward my bosom, and then quickly realign with my face.
“Well, you’re not meant to be down here. It’s dangerous.”
Before I had a chance to reply, someone shouted and we all turned to look at the boat that had been dragged aboard.
Another shout rang out. People fell back, stumbling over one another, and what looked like a black blanket suddenly flowed over the side of the boat.
I frowned, and then opened my mouth in shock as I realised that it was a plague of rats … and they were running toward me. They scurried quickly across the deck, and then without warning, one of them launched itself at me, and I felt its sharp little teeth sink into my arm.
But it was the sight of a man hauling human bones out of the boat that made me scream.
12.13pm
I could tell as the doctor stuck the needle into my arm that he enjoyed inflicting pain. I winced, which caused a faint smile to break the straight countenance of his narrow lips. He had a face like granite rock, weather-beaten, upon which the smile seemed ill at ease.
“That antibiotic should help ward off any infection,” he said.
My mother sat at my side, shaking her head. “What the hell were you doing there anyway?” she asked for the umpteenth time.
I sighed, tired of explaining myself. The pulsing throb of a headache didn’t help.
People always commented that I acquired my good looks from my mother. At the moment, her blue eyes looked close to tears, although I didn’t know whether through anger or concern. Her hair was as blond as mine, but shorter. We also shared the same little button nose, and I think my bosom will be as plentiful too. The t-shirt she bought during our stop in Jamaica made her look cheap. Two sizes too small, it bared her midriff and the pierced belly button she had done last year. It’s time she grew up.
My father sat behind her with his back against the wall. He seemed distracted; his thoughts probably on the state of his car components business back home. I don’t think he wanted to come on this holiday; I probably inherited my mother’s stubborn streak, too.
13.20pm
By now I felt awful. A headache thumped away inside my skull like a demonic parasite and a fever made me feel delirious. Mother sent for the doctor, but it appeared that I was not the only one to have been bitten by the rats, and he was busy elsewhere.
Although I couldn’t be sure, I think my mother’s more worried than she’s letting on. I heard her whispering to my father (which is never a good sign), and they won’t let Jake in to see me.
17.30pm
Time felt as though it had stopped. The last few hours seemed to have dragged on for days. I think I’ve been sleeping, but I’m not sure.
“But she’s only sixteen; she can’t be dead,” my mother said.
I wondered briefly who my mother was referring to, and I tried to turn my head to ask, but I couldn’t move.
Panicked, I tried to open my mouth to speak, to cry out, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything.
A shadow moved into my field of view, and the doctor’s face appeared above me like the angel of death. He shook his head and then closed my eyelids. Dark inside, I felt strangely numb.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Hoyle.”
My mother screamed.
I wanted to open my eyes; wanted to scream back that I wasn’t dead, but I couldn’t. My mouth and eyes remained glued shut.
In the background, I heard the captain’s voice come over the Tannoy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, a few hours after leaving Haiti, we picked up a vessel that was floating adrift. Unfortunately, the vessel was harbouring a quantity of rats that have now entered the ship. These rats have bitten a number of people, and it has been found that the rats are carrying an unidentified virus. You are advised not to leave your cabins until further notice. But rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to contain the situation.”
Virus. The word made me think back to a recent biology class. Virus: any of a group of sub microscopic entities capable of replication only within the cells of animals and plants.
That didn’t sound too good. As I contemplated my predicament, I heard more voices in the room, strange voices, and although I couldn’t move, I felt them lift my body and carry me through the ship.
I heard people talking in the background; some cried. Far away, I heard a scream.
19.02pm
When I opened my eyes, the darkness didn’t fade; it took me a moment to realise that something rested lightly on my face. I instinctively reached up, glad that my ability to move had returned, and tugged off what turned out to be a white, linen sheet. Light from a bare bulb above cast a veil of luminescence, revealing the room to be some sort of storage facility piled high with boxes.
Before I fell into what I can only assume was a coma, I had felt someone touching me up. I had wanted to scream at them to stop, but of course I couldn’t. To all intents and purposes I was dead. That’s what made it so sickening. I don’t know how far the person would have gone if they weren’t interrupted by someone entering the room and announcing another dead body needed collecting – I couldn’t help but think that it had been doctor death copping a quick feel.
I now felt hungry. Ravenous. It not only manifested itself as a burning sensation in my stomach, but as an overpowering urge to feast.
I sat up. My body felt different, my muscle fibres tighter, as if they had contracted, and my skin felt leathery. Red blotches marred my arms; where the blood had pooled my body looked bruised. I probably looked as bad as I felt.
Swinging my legs over the side of the trolley, I stood up and then almost collapsed. At first, walking proved difficult; I felt reborn, having to learn all over.
There were other bodies in the room, but I sensed that they too weren’t dead, that we had been pricked like Sleeping Beauty and had fallen asleep. But no Prince came to awaken us.
19.21pm
Upon leaving the room, my family came to mind. It took a while to get my bearings, but once I did, I made my way back to the cabin we shared.
The ship seemed unnaturally quiet. In the distance, I heard the slap of waves against the bow, and felt the steady throb of the engines vibrating through the floor. My whole body felt attuned.
20.01pm
When I reached the cabin, I opened the door without hesitating.
My mother sat with her head in her hands; she looked up when I entered. Mascara marred her face in tearful lines.
Her expression transformed through surprise, pleasure and finally, shock.
Then she screamed.
It’s hard to say what I felt at that moment. Any other time I would have been saddened to have seen her so upset. Now …
With no sign
of Father and Jake, I guessed they were out somewhere. Perhaps Father was trying to explain the concept of death to my brother, but he would be ill-informed.
I opened my mouth and tried to speak, but no words would come – at least nothing that sounded intelligible.
Impelled to move, I staggered forward and grabbed my mother. Apparently too shocked to stir, she gurgled something as incoherent as my own effort at communication, but I wasn’t really listening. I needed to quench the burning in my stomach.
I sank my teeth into Mother’s neck and clamped them together and ripped out a chunk of flesh as sweet as any prime steak. She gurgled something and for a brief moment, she struggled. But it was futile. Death had empowered me.
It felt almost karmic – seemed only right that Mother nurtured me in death as she had in life.
20.34pm
Sated for now, I sat in the darkness, cradling my mother’s severed arm. I didn’t feel any guilt. I didn’t feel anything.
I sensed the others like me, rising from their dead sleep – felt it through a primal connection that united us in death.
Footsteps echoed outside the door and then stopped; the handle started to turn. I heard voices: my father and brother. I would never make Jake laugh again.
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