Graveyard: A Stay Dead short story collection

by Steve Wands

  Inside the storage room, Clem moved his flashlight from side to side, pointing out the sections of boxes, and whom they belonged to. There was a ton of tools, lumber, crates, extra doors, ladders, a spare railing, light bulbs–you name it, it was in there. It was a general storage area for all the maintenance needs of the building, and the maintenance workers also used it as a storage area for their own belongings. Clem hadn’t much use for it, but apparently everyone else did. He showed Danni which boxes belonged to his neighbors. They were clearly marked and stacked in one spot. She quickly sifted through and came to the conclusion that this was not what she wanted. Most of it was winter clothes and baby clothes, a box of baby toys, but no headphones. Clem was looking through a few boxes on his own accord, just at random. He remembered there being a small radio, not knowing what happened to it, and thinking maybe one of the guys just threw it in the storage room. Danni looked around, and Clem’s flashlight came across a bike suspended from the ceiling. Dangling from the handlebars was a set of headphones, intact. Her eyes lit up and she grabbed them. “Got it!” she yelled, startling Clem. Danni rushed back inside her apartment and plugged it into the Walkman. She put the headphones on and white noise filled her ears. She scanned all the channels the small dial allowed and then checked the AM band and it was the same–lots of white noise and dead air. Clem had closed the storage room and returned to his apartment. She scanned the channels over and over for the better part of an hour before she finally took the earphones off and put it down altogether.

  It was Danni’s third day in her new home. She and Clem were on the rooftop once more. It was sometime in the afternoon, the sun was sitting high above them. They were just observing. Taking note of the dead people’s actions, which really weren’t much, they just kind of wandered without purpose. It seemed only human flesh provoked them to action. They wondered if they responded to scent or noise, or if they could still see. It was all speculation and if they wanted real answers, they’d have to see through the eyes of the dead and become one of them to really know–and neither of them cared that badly. The two of them stayed on the roof for about two hours. Then Clem noticed on the other rooftop, the one Danni had jumped from, that a group of the undead had started to gather. It seemed as if they were looking for something. It gave Clem a sick feeling in his stomach. Clem put his finger over his lip and looked at Danni, then pointed in the direction of the group. She nearly gasped and cupped her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear. Clem slowly and quietly crept over to the doorway, careful not to draw any attention. Danni closely followed him and tried to mimic his footsteps as closely as possible. There were easily over a dozen staggering things on the other roof, some gazing into the sky, others swaying their heads, and some seemed to look with working eyes. However they found prey, it was obvious that they knew something was on the roof. Danni and Clem made it inside without incident. Clem immediately looked at Danni with a look of concern mixed with anger.

  “We are not going back up there any time soon, and Lorri is not to know about this.”

  Danni nodded in agreement.

  “She doesn’t need to know what we saw up there. It’s scary enough without thinking that they know we’re in here, and I hope to hell they don’t,” Clem paused, his concern turned to fear. “Because if they do, well, we’re just fucked.”

  Clem wasn’t the kind who took to cursing with ease. He really didn’t care for it, and Danni knew that right off the bat. She took his concern very seriously. She too was scared and didn’t want Lorraine to be any more frightened than she had already been. They both parted ways. Danni returned to her radio for a bit, listening to the static and odd noises. Clem returned to Lorraine’s side. They sat cuddled on the couch. She had an old photo album that she took from her room and the two of them sat flipping through it.

  A few hours passed and Danni had gone out to the hallway. She crept toward the doorway that led upstairs. Her head was cocked­–she stood still, listening to hear any noise that might come from the roof. She couldn’t hear anything other than the moans from inside the complex. Reassured, she returned to her dwelling. She scoured the place for any other batteries. She looked around for a bit, then she got bored and started to do some pushups. After that she did some crunches. Once again she put on the headphones and once again she was disappointed. Another day passed and it was basically the same. Danni grew comfortable in her new place and she was comfortable with Clem and Lorraine. She joined them for breakfast again. This time the spread was a little more conservative. The fresh food was already growing short and there were only a handful of eggs left. Clem had mentioned that he wanted to look into the last apartment for any food they could use; everybody agreed it was a good idea. Now they had an excursion they could all look forward to–even Lorraine wanted to go out into the other apartment. Clem and Lorraine had always gone for morning walks before the world went to hell and today especially, Lorraine was feeling her legs start to cramp from sitting around so much. She felt she needed to go on a little adventure, even though the apartment was just across the hall.

  After breakfast they sat for a bit. It was amazing how quickly the simple act of going across into their neighbors’ home had become such a grand spectacle. Leaving the complex was potentially suicidal, especially for Clem and his wife. They talked it up enough and decided it was time to go over, Clem grabbed his bat, Lorraine had her peashooter and Danni didn’t bother with anything. Clem had been in there before and was pretty certain that nothing was there. They crossed the hall, trying to be quiet, more out of their own fear than any sort of need. Clem opened the door, letting it creep open. Danni’s hand was shaking and her heart was thumping. She could only imagine what Lorraine was feeling. Danni put her hand on Lorraine’s shoulder, and Lorraine looked back at her, instantly comforted. Now inside the apartment, Clem moved forward while Danni wedged the door open. Lorraine stuck close to her husband. The three of them were gathered in the kitchen. Lorraine was given Clem’s flashlight and held it in the direction of the fridge. Clem opened it and was hit with the stench of rot–spoiled milk and rotten cold cuts. He dry-heaved. Luckily Danni and Lorraine were back far enough not to get the initial wave. With his hand cupped over his face, he sorted through the fridge, and handed whatever he thought was good back to Danni. Within seconds her hands were full, mostly with juice and soda. She ran back to their door and put it on the ground and ran right back. She did that two more times before they started on the freezer. Everything was still kind of cold and they figured it was better they keep it in there for now and wait till their freezer was near empty. Clem gave a quick look into the pantry, taking a gallon of water and calling it quits. The other stuff in there could wait, too. Back inside Clem’s place, they stocked all the stuff they’d gathered into their own fridge. They assured Danni she was free to use any of it, and she knew they meant it. She didn’t care to bring any of it back to her place. She had plenty to eat and drink at her place for a while.

  A few more days passed and it was more of the same. From what they could tell by looking out the windows, the situation hadn’t changed. Clem and Danni had talked about going back to the roof and on more than one occasion they made it to the doorway before backing away. They were talking about it again as they heard and felt a loud booming noise. They looked at each other and without hesitation ran to the rooftop door. Lorraine had slowly followed behind, and neither one of them noticed. Clem opened the door to the roof. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and there were even less of the ghouls on the other rooftop. Clem turned his gaze around and dropped to his knees. Danni put her hand on his shoulder and mumbled something. Lorraine popped her head around the door and crawled over to her husband, her jaw not willing to close. They stared in the direction of Titan City and saw that the skyline had been replaced with a giant mushroom cloud. Someone had dropped the bomb on Titan City. The biggest city on the east coast had been wiped out. The closest government-sanctioned safe zone was no more, a city lying in ruin. Befo
re the moment could really set in, on the other rooftop, the walking corpses realized a fresh meal was in reach. Danni turned to see one walking off the roof, moaning toward their direction and plummeting to the street. Two more began moaning. The three of them went back inside. They sat behind the door listening, their breath deep and hearts racing. They could hear the moaning from the roof. After a bit they began to head down to Clem’s place. The trio sat next to the window. They could see a stir in the street among the dead. Hoping it was for the same reason, they stared at the cloud. Lorraine was in tears and soon Danni was too. They hugged as Clem put his arm around both of them, never taking his eyes off the cloud. The three of them stayed there, not really moving, just sort of stunned. Not knowing what to feel, they were all pretty numb to begin with. They wanted to feel hope, but all that came up was fear. Another loud booming noise was heard and felt. They didn’t bother going to the roof. None of them wanted to know what just happened. Clem sat behind Lorraine, arms wrapped around her. Danni sat close to them, but felt so alone. They waited as if in preparation for the next bomb to hit them. It never came. Looking out the window, the three of them stared at two towering plumes of ash, dust, and debris. The city that never slept would never wake again.

  The next morning, Danni went back to her apartment to get her headphones. She put them on and started thumbing through the stations. First the FM band, and then the AM, frantically at first and then slowly, but the noise was the same on every station–a regular rotation of dead air.

  *

  THE LAST BROADCAST

  *

  The station was set to go off the air at noon. Station Manager, Morgan Latch, had sent everyone home yesterday with the exception of a skeleton crew. Amelia, the sweet, sultry voice of New Jersey on the Airwaves, NJOA 101.9 for short; Patrick, the audio engineer, who started as an intern over a decade ago. They were all he needed for one last broadcast. Morgan had updated all of his emergency information including a list of all Safe Zones. He had the most recent press releases from the CDC, FEMA, Homeland Security, DERA, ETO and every other combination of letters known to the general public and then some. He gathered what information they could on the local traffic situation, which was dismal. Patrick interrupted the regularly scheduled Breakfast with The Beatles slot to air a few pre-recorded emergency preparedness segments passed down from the mother and sister stations. NJOA was the ugly stepsisters friend in the broadcasting family tree. The one not pretty enough or slick enough for a fancy office in the big city, which is why they were the last station standing. Every other station on the east coast was off air, sure some of them had old news and top 40 countdowns on loop, so if you tuned in you’d think things were okay. If you heard the same 40 songs over and over again you might just think they were good too, but you’d be wrong. You’d be dead wrong. All you had to do was look out any window and you could see that everything was not okay.

  Amelia stared out the window with her giant-sized headphones covering her ears and framing her apple-shaped face. Her eyes were dark with bags like tire tread-marks hanging below them. As if her sanity drove off in a hurry and left her eyes behind, like misbehaving kids on the side of the road. Outside the window was pure horror. Plumes of smoke tried to smother the sun. The roads were full of cars going nowhere fast. Most bizarrely were the things that used to be people, given an extra dose of life with the unnatural side effect of an unending appetite for human flesh. They were our bad habits come to life, only they were so much worse. Amelia was convinced that her multiple affairs caused the wrath of her God, and that this was her punishment; to be working with the two men she chose to screw instead of her husband. Neither man knew that the other had the same taste in forbidden fruits. They were so different in life but all the same underneath Amelia’s thick hips. All yeah, yeah, yeah and fuck I’m gonna cum. She prayed over and over again saying each time was the last and it never was and now she was sorry. Really sorry, this time, honest, she swore. She sat down and closed her eyes, her bee-stung lips parted as she took a deep breath.

  “In 5, 4, 3…” Patrick remained silent after three but counted down with his fingers and mouthed the remaining numbers. 2, 1, she’s on.

  “I wish I could give you my usual happy entrance, New Jersey, but I can’t. The sun shines on another day of absolute terror as our loved ones and neighbors return to a state of living death. If you’ve looked out your window lately you know the deal and if you’re alive then you’re doing better than a lot folks out there,” she nervously wrapped and unwrapped the headphone cord around her fingers.

  “This is our last broadcast and when it’s over me and the boys are heading back to our homes to wait this thing out. So, clear the roads so we won’t have to play bumper cars later,” Amelia gave a nervous laugh.

  Amelia continued her one sided conversation for hours. Every fifteen minutes she would read off the list of Safe Zones and emergency information that Morgan prepared earlier—there had not been any updates—and every hour she replayed the pre-recorded segments. She announced a music break and left the listeners to hear Strange Days by The Doors as she pulled a cigarette from a box in her purse. She lit it while leaving the sound room, pulling a deep hard drag of menthol down into the pit of her lungs. Morgan and Patrick followed right behind her, lighting their own brands. Morgan was a Marlboro man, reds only, none of that pussy shit. Patrick was a fan of Camel Joe; otherwise know as that pussy shit. As they approached the doors going outside they could hear a scraping noise on the double doors. Amelia dropped her cigarette. Ash spun off the twirling cylinder as it found it’s home on the floor. Both men bumped into her, neither of them loosing their smokes.

  Beyond the double doors, scraping at the glass was a horde of the undead and leading the pack, with visibly slit wrists, was Amelia’s husband. He moaned and the noise created an icy cactus where Amelia’s spine used to be. She stepped backward, her eyes welling up with tears. It was all her fault, she thought. She never told him, but somehow he knew. He knew she hadn’t been faithful, but he believed anything that came out of her mouth. She made everything sound great—her voice could put him at ease no matter how bad a day he had. Even this morning when she chose work over staying home in his safe embrace. She didn’t know it, but he followed her to the station, just to make sure she was safe. He didn’t like the idea of her traveling around when things were the way they were. When she pulled into the parking lot Morgan had been waiting for her. He smiled like he was impersonating a shark, then wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her deep. She grabbed his crotch and they walked inside in a hurry. They would’ve gotten in a quickie had Patrick not beaten both of them to the station. Robert, her husband, parked the car next to hers and popped the trunk. He pulled out a screwdriver, a tire-iron, and a box-cutter.

  He punctured Morgan’s tires with the screwdriver. Then violently smashed in his car windows, his chest heaved with rage and his eyes fought back tears. His blood continued to boil, even after demolishing Morgan’s car. He needed more to destroy, his eyes fixed on the car he bought for Amelia. He saw his warped reflection in the window and smashed it into tiny jagged pieces. When he was done, he sat in his car. His hands had cuts and scratches, the tire-iron and box-cutter sat by his side. He tuned the radio to his favorite station and waited to hear his wife’s voice. He wanted to hear her say good morning one more time, but the words never crossed her lips. He took out his wallet and looked at a picture from their cruise last year, her voice filling his head, but he didn’t find it as beautiful as he once did. Thoughts of killing her crossed his mind, but he thought it would be more fitting if the blood were on her hands.

  *

  TUNNEL RATS

  *

  Deep below the belly of Titan City a man called Bark shaves his face in a shard of mirror that’s duct taped to the wall of his makeshift shack. His sweat serves as lather and the dull blade wicks it off. Most of his neighbors don’t even bother to shave. They’re too busy gumming the community crack pipe
to give a shit. Not Bark, no sir, he’s going to the surface, he’s going to find a job, a good woman and a fast car, he swore it to God. He swished his razor in a bucket of piss-colored water, splashed his face and patted it dry with the sleeve of a tattered flannel shirt. He then put the shirt on, tucked it in and grabbed his hat, a faded and chewed Pirates cap which was a keepsake from his former life. A life that now seemed like a dream, an amazing dream of mediocrity, of clean clothes and hot coffee, running water and a bed.

  Bark pushed open the plywood door. The squealing of rats and the sparking noise of a lighter pulled his thoughts back to reality. The reality of a harsh truth that he very well may die down in the dark tunnels of this subway-suburbia of tents, shacks, vermin and shit. His backpack sat in a shopping cart alongside his collection of bottles and cans. Bark slung the bag over his shoulder and started his trek along the tracks to the surface. It was just over a mile.

  Daylight stung his eyes. He winced as if it were a rat chewing at his calf. The city was bustling. It was morning. He stuck his hand out. Most people never even looked at him, if they saw his hand they would make it a point to not look into his eyes. His deep blue-green eyes, a set of some of the sorriest eyes you’ve ever seen.

  “Spare some change,” he asked but it wasn’t a question.

  “Just ‘nuff for some coffee,” he continued.

  “God Bless You,” he blessed passersby at random, with or without donations.

  Bark had a different line every time he opened his mouth, different strokes for different folks and all that, he figured. Sometimes it worked sometimes it didn’t. It worked well enough, after an hour he had enough for a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich. He was thinking of a big old belly buster from the corner deli, Happy Deli was what they called it but none of the people who worked there looked happy. He ordered his Belly Buster. It oozed grease, cheese and butter. He couldn’t wait to wrap his mouth around it. He walked to the line, coffee and sandwich in hand. Once he got the cashier, he dumped his change on the counter. It consisted of pennies, nickels, quarters, a ball of lint, and a dollar. He was a few pennies short, but he was close enough that they didn’t care. They gave him a dirty look for free.