Tales of the Zombie Apocalypse (Issue #3 | October 2015)

by Anthony, Michael

  Greg didn't hesitate for a second. In a swift motion, he spun in front of the zombie, raked his machete blade across its neck, and sliced deep into the throat. The blade cut like it was cutting through tough, rubbery mush. Hot blood rushed out, and he jumped back to avoid the flood that smacked into the puddles and pavement. The creature, however, showed no signs of stopping. Putting out its arms, it attempted to rush forward as its head hung back, held to its corpse by nothing by the last bit of some thick skin and the spinal column.

  Greg wasted no time, and with another chop, took the head clean off. It landed on the ground, face up to the rain, gnawing, still gnawing its teeth. It let out a moan as its own headless body fell to the side and remained motionless.

  "Want some more?" Greg asked the still chomping mouth. Wiping the rain from his eyes, he lifted his cutter high in the air above his head and brought it down on the zombie's head. With brutal precision, he hacked away at the head, across the eye socket and up along the side of the forehead. He hacked forcefully, even as the teeth continued to gnaw, until he had fractured and splintered the bone straight through. He didn't stop until he had cleaved the brain in two and emerged on the other side.

  "Damn demon," he said and retrieved his blade.

  The rows of teeth were finally motionless, but still unsatisfied, Greg swiftly kicked what was left of the head and sent into flying into the muck.

  Part 2: And there is no end in dying

  There was the high-pitched scream again, a little girl's from somewhere in the distance. Without waiting, Greg moved forward, further into the compound. Moving quickly, he followed a row of residential units until they came out on a back lot of the property. What he saw made him feel like his heart was going to stop. A group of about 10 zombies were advancing on a little girl. She was no more than 9 years old, attempting to hide behind a barrel under an awning. She was drenched in rain, and her eyes were wide with fright. She screamed out again.

  Greg pulled back to keep himself hidden behind the corner of the building he had just emerged from. There were too many of them; even if he rushed them, he had a low chance of survival. But if he did nothing, if he merely stayed there hiding, the girl would be murdered. He ran the options through his mind, contemplating every angle. Either the zombies would overtake him before he could get to her or killing them would involve so much noise it would attract more with the same outcome.

  "But she's a little girl. She deserves to live," he thought.

  There was the smashing sound of metal on pavement, and Greg looked around the corner: the girl had thrown a barrel down in front of her in an attempt to stop the zombies, but there was nothing more she could do. Greg tightened his grip on his machete as the rain let up slightly.

  Now was the time to decide.

  The girl screamed out again, shrieking with tears running down her face. Greg closed his eyes and pulled himself back around the corner again, so that he didn't have to watch. But he could hear everything.

  Wailing, never stopping, the young girl cried out for her father, but the words lost form as they gave way to a different sound, the popping of bones being ripped from sockets. In a torrent of red liquid, the zombies pulled each of her arms right from her body. The screaming was almost as unbearable as the sound of her arms being torn from their joints. Several zombies bit into her shoulders and neck as she fell backward onto the ground. The rich red liquid poured from her wounds onto the wet ground.

  Yet, the screaming was over in a second, as the girl turned. The zombies devoured the meat and muscle of each of her arms as she rose up. When Greg glanced around the corner a second time, the armless girl was again at her feet, but she was a disgusting vision of hell: you could see the end of her shoulder bone coming through what was left of one of her shoulders. Her throat was torn to shreds, and her eyes were no longer human.

  Part 3: While no man can say a thing

  The next zombie Greg came across, he didn't wait for the perfect moment. Instead, with a strong swing, he caught it right in its open mouth and buried the blade sideways there. With the joints partially cut, the jaw fell off with the tongue still slithering around. With a hard kick to the zombie's chest, Greg sent it flying backward, releasing his machete from its meat.

  Even now, Greg couldn't get the sound of the girl being torn apart from his mind. He played it over and over again in his head.

  "There was nothing I could do," he shouted to no one.

  As the zombie tried to get back to its feet, slipping in the rain, Greg thrust his blade right up and through the remnants of its mouth, a gaping, bloody hole. The force was enough to smash through to the other end, and the blade, now completely red, burst through the top of the skull.

  When Greg pulled the cutter from the destroyed creature's head, two men rounded the corner, armed with tactical rifles.

  "Who the hell are you?" the older man demanded loudly. But before Greg could answer, another zombie came running down from the far end of the row at open throttle. Both the men turned at the first groan and opened fire. In a blaze of bullets, the walking corpse was filled with 20 or 25 shots, puncturing holes in the torn up clothing before it fell and remained motionless far from them.

  "Are you stupid?" Greg shouted.

  "Who the hell are you?" the older man repeated, louder than before, over the sound of the rain. He pointed his rifle at Greg.

  "The sound," Greg stammered. "You'll attract every zombie for miles."

  "Good," the old man said, pushing Greg aside. "I'll mow 'em down too. Step aside or you're next."

  "We're trying to find my sister," the younger man said. "She came this way. I don't care how many zombies come, we'll kill every last one of them."

  "Oh Jesus," Greg said.

  Both men stopped and turned to him as the older man brushed rainwater from his eyes.

  "What do you mean, 'oh Jesus?'" the younger man asked.

  Greg told them what happened; that he was powerless to stop the zombies from murdering the little girl; that he would never be able to forgive himself.

  "You could have saved her," the older man cried out, rushing forward. The younger man stopped him.

  "There was nothing he could do," the younger man said. "Let him tell us what else he has to say."

  "Bullshit," the older man yelled. "I'm going to kill him. There's nothing he can say."

  But the father's demands were cut short as a throng of zombies ran around the corner from where the first had come.

  The father placed one well aimed shot into the head of one of the zombies at the front, and it fell to the ground. A quarter sized hole oozed out blood as the body hit the pavement. The older man fired several more times, before yelling out, "Run!"

  Part 4: But damnation comes to all

  There were too many of them. A mob of decaying corpses chased the three men, men and women that had once been human, but were now reduced to humanity's trash, the littered meat of an undead army. All three men ran together down another row of units, making another turn to attempt an escape. But as they turned the corner, they came to a high fence that blocked their path.

  "We'll have to jump it," the brother yelled, slinging his gun and locking his hands together into a platform. "Dad, you first," he said to the older man.

  As a single zombie made the turn to greet them, the father sent a handful of bullets into the sticky mass of thick ooze of its chest. The shots did nothing to slow it down, and in a moment, it lunged at the younger man.

  "Welcome to hell," Greg cried out just as the monster grabbed the younger man. Swinging his machete rapidly, it landed at the spot where the arm met the shoulder and buried into the gap of the joint. Greg quickly pulled it out and swung again, aiming at the same spot. As the zombie tried to turn without releasing its grip on the brother, its entire rotting arm tore free and a spray of blood went through the air onto Greg. He wasted no time in beheading the creature.

  "Go!" the boy yelled again, motioning for the older man to boost himself up ov
er the fence.

  Once the older man had navigated the bobbed-wire on the top and was over the obstacle, Greg got into place to help the younger man do the same.

  "What you did..." the younger man began to say, but Greg cut him short.

  "Don't mention it. At least I could save you. Let's get you on the other side of this thing," he responded, locking his hands together so the younger man could make the high climb.

  Two more zombies emerged, two corpses of men that appeared to have once been army personnel. One's uniform was shredded to pieces, and one of its eyes was hanging from a socket that was raw and bleeding. The other, far bigger, dragged a broken leg behind it as it moved forward. The stench of death was thick in the air.

  The brother opened fire and wasted no amount of bullets, aiming for the the head of each zombie. The faces blew apart.

  "Hurry," Greg said and motioned for the younger man to join his father on the other side of the fence. "We don't have much time left."

  "But what about you?" the younger man asked.

  "I have extensive combat training. I'll be up over this in no time."

  Greg lifted the younger man up, and the man carefully worked his way over the bobbed-wire before jumping to his feet on the other side. Just then, a mass of zombies entered the dead end.

  And at the front of the mob... was the little, armless girl, an undead creature who also had no look in her eyes.

  Greg let out an audible gasp. But he wasted no time in turning around to mount the fence and save himself. When he did, the younger man had already drawn a handgun and was pointing it at him from the other side.

  "What-- what are you doing?" Greg cried. The younger man merely smirked.

  "Now we know for sure you let her die. Now she's going to kill you."

  Before Greg could say another word, the younger man lowered the gun and fired two shots. Each bullet took out a knee, blasting the kneecap completely open. Greg's legs gave way immediately, and he fell forward to clutch at the metal rings of the fence.

  "You're scum," the brother said and took a step back.

  "Wait," Greg cried out, gasping in pain as he tried to pull himself up on the fence. "I couldn't have saved her."

  "And now we can't save you," the younger man answered.

  "You sure aren't too concerned about making noise now, are ya?" the father asked, mocking Greg before he died.

  "Don’t do this!" Greg screamed out. But his cries were futile, and the little girl was the first to reach him, driving her armless body forward to pull out his brains with her teeth. The mass of zombies followed, surrounding Greg in mere seconds as his shrill voice rang out with the rain picking up again.

  The two men waited until Greg himself rose up as a zombie, and as the crowd of them beat upon the fence, the brother aimed his gun one last time. But instead of killing any of the other zombies, he merely fired one final shot between Greg's eyes. As Greg's body hit the ground, the rest of the zombies turned to consume the meat and muscle.

  “Zombies in Amish Country”

  Story #6

  By

  P. Analiase Ramirez

  Katie Byler stood gazing out the kitchen window, watching for her Father and Brother. Her Mother, sister and she had already eaten and it was unlike the men to be late for supper. As Katie finished up the last of the dishes, she heard her Mother holler from the cellar.

  “Katie” said her Mother. “Go and fetch your Pa and Caleb. We have an early morning tomorrow and they have both been out there long enough. Tell them, I said so.”

  Katie folded up the dish towel and hung it to dry. Making her way out the front door towards the barn, she heard the whirl of the English's siren in the distance. That was odd, Katie thought to herself. That siren only usually sounded during inclement weather or on the first Thursday of every month, for testing. It wasn't Thursday and the weather couldn't be more beautiful for mid-September. Shrugging it off Katie continued on to the barn.

  Katie slowed her walk as she rounded the corner to the entrance of the barn. She could hear something of a struggle going on inside and wondered if the pigs had gotten loose from the pen again. It sounded as if they were inside eating the oats from the horse's stock.

  Not wanting to startle them into flight, Katie slowly peeked around the corner of the barn door. It was dark inside making it hard to see. As her eyes began to adjust she could make out figures. Her Father and Brother were fighting off something that she couldn't make out. She watched as it grabbed a hold of her brother and put her hand over her mouth to stifle the scream she knew was coming.

  “CALEB” screamed their Father.

  Jed Byler ran to help his son. As he reached Caleb, one of the attackers grabbed him and took a large bite out of his neck. Even in the dark Katie could see the blood as it shot out and stained the straw floor of the barn. This Thing continued to take chunks out of her father. She watched as pieces of flesh and bits of clothing were mindlessly ripped and thrown.

  Trying to see if she could find Caleb again, Katie looked around aimlessly and saw that whatever had done this had left and taken pieces of him with it. She followed the trail of what must have been intestines as it rounded a corner and disappeared into a stall a few feet away. The rest must have gone, because Katie couldn't make out any other figures.

  Katie stood frozen in terror as she stepped inside. Her father and brother lay limp and lifeless on piles of straw. Caleb lay draped over a bail of hail. His stomach was left gaping open. The contents of it lay scattered around him like someone had been rummaging through it, looking for something. Her father lay only inches away, his neck ripped open. Katie tried to scream, to run but she could not move. She could hear whatever it was that had done this still in the barn. It was eating. She could hear it gnawing and tearing like a wild hog.

  Her instincts took over. Katie grabbed hold of her skirts with both hands and turned to run. As her booted feet made it to the threshold of the barn she felt herself being thrust forward. Her foot caught the frame of the barn door. She fell with such force to the ground that her elbows skidded along the gravel. She could feel the sting of her skin being torn. She rolled back onto her stomach, scrambled to her feet, trying to get her footing on the dirt and gravel.

  She could hear the loud scream of the English's sirens again, the screech of the animals in their pens and the scream of her neighbors. They were faint, but she could hear them. Screaming, that was all she could hear. Screaming and humming, that seemed to get closer by the second.

  Katie looked towards the two story farm house that was 50 feet from where she stood. She fixed her gaze on the kitchen light and ran straight towards it, screaming for her Mother.

  "Mother" she screamed, bolting towards the safety of her childhood home.

  As Katie made it to the front porch, she grasped the wooden railing and pulled herself up the stairs. She yanked open the screen door, pulling it shut behind her. Breathless and exhausted, she leaned against the heavy door and sank to the ground.

  She could still hear the faint screaming in the distance. The English's sirens going off every few minutes were getting louder. She'd lost track of how many times she'd heard them. She just knew she didn't want to hear them anymore. Katie pressed her palms to her ears as hard as she could to drown out the noise.

  "Katie" Ruth Byler said with panic in her voice. "What on earth happened, are you alright? Are you hurt, Katie?"

  As Ruth took stock of her daughter’s condition, the panic began to rise. She dropped the basket of yarn she was carrying and stared in shock at the sight of her eldest daughter. She was filthy and covered in blood. Her hair lay in shambles around her and she was rocking back and forth against the front door.

  Ruth hurried towards her daughter and sank to floor in front of her. She reached forward grasping Katie's shoulders. She needed to know what had happened to her daughter.

  Katie gasped in horror, shrinking back against the door. She had the look of blood curdling fear in her eyes as she s
tared at her Mother.

  "Katie" said Ruth. "Where are you hurt?"

  She could see recognition come into Katie's eyes as she focused on her face. Katie flew into her Mother’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Ruth held her daughter and stood up bringing Katie with her.

  "Come Katie, let’s get you fixed up," Ruth said in a soft whisper.

  She led her daughter towards the brighter light of the kitchen. Katie was limp in her Mother’s arms as Ruth reached out and pulled out the chair at the end of the table. She lowered her daughter onto the seat. She went about gathering the things she would need to tend to her daughter.

  "Katie", Ruth said softly "I sent you to fetch your brother and father. It is getting late and we have an early morning tomorrow with the beginning of the harvest. Where are they?"

  Katie stared at her Mother, noticing how rich the Dutch accent was, for the first time in her life. Katie had never considered leaving the’ ordnung’. She had heard horror stories of how the English lived. She had even intended on forgoing ‘rumspringa’. She planned on getting baptized into the church as soon as she turned 18.

  "It doesn't matter does it?" Katie said out loud.

  "What? What doesn't matter?" Ruth replied to her daughter, baffled by her response.

  "There is no escape from evil" Katie elaborated. "It will find you, no matter where you are. No matter if you are English or Amish, evil will find you".

  "You are talking nonsense Katie. The Lord keeps us. We live simply and he keeps us." Ruth did not understand what her daughter was going through. "Now answer me Katie Lee, where are your Father and Brother?"

  "Dead", replied Katie. "They're dead." That response seemed a little too calm, even for Katie.

  "What do you mean dead?" Ruth stared in disbelief at her daughter.