by David Lovato
After the Bite
By
David Lovato and Seth Thomas
Copyright © 2013 David Lovato and Seth Thomas
All rights reserved.
Artwork © 2012 Laura Soret
Table of Contents:
Foreword: These Ain’t Your Grampa’s Zombies!
The River
On the Road
Holy War
The Living Dead
On 68th and Woodland Drive
Tragedy in Belford
Sanctuary
Death’s Robe
Grampa’s War Story
Concrete Nightmare
Dead and Gone
Acceptance
Alone Up There
Dog’s Story
Thy Neighbor
Grim is the Truth
Two Worlds
Did Your Mama Ever Tell You the Story of the Day You Were Born?
BAZK
Like Fish
Ghost Story
Afterword
About the Authors
Copyright Info
These Ain’t Your Grampa’s Zombies!
A few years ago Seth and I decided to write a zombie novel together. What you’re currently reading is not it—but it’s close.
Somewhere during the process of writing our novel, we realized we had a lot of ideas that didn’t really fit. They weren’t inappropriate to the story, there just wasn’t enough room for them. So we decided to write them as short stories, and collect them together.
Our other work isn’t required reading. This collection will stand on its own, but these stories take place in the same world as our novel, and a few tie directly into the stories and characters in there. That said, we took some creative liberties with the whole zombie concept. Much of this is explained in the novel, which has not been released yet, but not in the stories in this collection.
To avoid confusion, I’m going to tell you a few things about our zombies and the world they occupy:
Our zombies are supernatural, not viral, but they aren’t the living dead. In fact, they die almost as easily as regular people do. No need to destroy the brain, though that’s still a pretty good way to take care of them.
Once a person dies, that’s it. They don’t come back. But if someone gets bitten, it’s only a matter of time before they become a zombie. Nothing unusual here.
Our zombies are also attracted to fire. Most will pass up a buffet of human flesh and dive right into open flames. They’re like moths in that regard, though there’s no such thing as a man-sized moth that eats your skin. At least I hope there’s not.
Our zombies have some other tricks up their tattered and occasionally nonexistent sleeves, but I’ll let you learn the rest on your own.
Cell phones and radio waves stop working shortly after the initial zombie event. You won’t find out why in this book, but our hope is that you will in the next one.
I hope you enjoy these stories, I hope you like your stay in this world we’ve put together. Seth and I would love to tell our story—the big story these ones are meant to supplement—but a lot of that might depend on how the world reacts to these stories. So I’ll let you get to them. Thanks for giving us a shot.
David Lovato
October 2012
P.S. The amazing cover art is by our friend Laura Soret. You can find more of her artwork on her deviantart website: http://suthnmeh.deviantart.com/
The River
He pulled the trigger and a split second later the shot rang out, deafening, like thunder. The zombie had stood, mouth gaping and dripping with blood and spit and flesh, but almost concurrent with that simple, one-fingered motion, its head was gone. Bits and pieces of it exploded in all directions, droplets of red and pink left a stain upon the white wallpaper, a permanent mark of the event that had just transpired, never to be undone or taken back. All it had taken was a movement of his finger.
“Take that, you zombie bastard!” Jack said. He was usually much calmer, but he was currently injured, close to death even, so he was feeling tense.
Then, it happened. He had gotten careless. When he had entered the small room, he had headed straight for the zombie (whose entire existence could now be summed up by a red stain on the wall), but Jack had not checked the corner, where a second zombie had been standing in the shadows. Upon hearing the gunshot, it took note of Jack and attacked him from behind, slamming its fists into him, biting him, thrashing about him. Before Jack could turn around to confront the zombie, he succumbed to his wounds and fell to the ground, dead.
“God damn it!” Jack said. He let the controller fall from his hands to the floor. His character on the screen before him lay motionless, blood pooling around his lifeless body. The camera circled in a taunting fashion, the zombie that had brought his demise wandered off as though it was bored, and then virtual blood ran down the screen, transparent in some places, forming a simple message: “You Died!” as though Jack had not already noticed.
Better luck next time, he supposed.
He’d finished the game countless times before, but still had difficulty with it on Expert Mode. A lot of people in the community did.
The community was the Zombie Apocalypse Preparation Organization, or Z.A.P.O. It was an online forum Jack was a high-ranking member of, and they did everything zombie-related imaginable. They posted news on upcoming films and books, help with various zombie-themed video games, they organized zombie walks (and Jack had been on his share of them), and a few members out in New York had even made their own zombie film, which was currently in post-production.
And all of it, in the eyes of Jack’s brother Henry, was absurd.
Jack and Henry were close. They had always been brothers, but they had become very close one day, years earlier, at the river.
****
The river wasn’t far from their house. It was across the back yard, through the woods, and then down a small hill. Their parents forbade them from playing in or by the river, despite how shallow it was, but the boys were not to be stopped. Eventually, their father gave in and set up a tire swing by a tree overhanging the river. The boys couldn’t have thanked him enough, especially since the resulting argument had ended with dear Father sleeping on the couch for a week.
The boys were young, then. Jack was only seven, and Henry was nine. Henry’s feet could touch the bottom of the river, but Jack’s couldn’t; he was just barely too short, and he would push off against the floor of the riverbed and bob up and down to keep his head above water. They would go to the river at least once every week, especially during the summer.
One day, in the middle of July, they went out to the river. Jack went in first, bypassing the rope swing and hopping right into the water, then bobbing up and down as he always did.
“Come on in, Henry!” Jack said. Henry dipped a foot into the water, then the other, and then stood there for a moment.
“It’s too cold,” Henry said. “Let me get used to it.”
“Don’t be a baby!” Jack replied.
“Who are you calling a baby? You can’t even keep your head up.”
“Just get used to it already. Like this!” Jack grabbed Henry and yanked him into the water. When the two emerged, Jack was laughing, and Henry was freezing.
“You jerk!” Henry said.
“Oh come on,” Jack said. “I want to play sometime before we get old.”
“You still didn’t have to drag me in.”
“What are you going to do? Tell Mom?” Jack laughed.
Henry climbed out of the river.
“Ah, come on!” Jack said. “Don’t be like that!”
“Don’t
get your panties in a bunch,” Henry said. “I’m just getting out to use the swing.”
Henry walked over to where the long rope hung from the tree, then climbed into the tire before pushing off with one leg. The swing went back and forth, over the river and then back onto the bank, where Henry would give another push.
“Show-off!” Jack shouted. “Just jump already!”
“I think I can go higher!” Henry said, pushing off again.
“Just jump, Hen!”
There was a loud noise, and the branch snapped. Henry landed on his back, just barely in the water. His head slammed against the shallow part of the river, and then he slid forward into the water.
“Henry!” Jack screamed. He lost sight of Henry, and saw only a trail of red water. He bobbed up again, trying to get a better look. He called out for help, knowing nobody could hear. Jack looked for Henry and saw him emerge, floating face-down, slowly moving down the river.
“Henry! Get up!” Jack said. He moved, awkwardly but as swiftly as he could, toward his brother.
Jack caught up and did his best to turn Henry face-up. It was difficult because he couldn’t touch the bottom, and the river was deeper out here; he had to push even harder to get his head above water.
“Henry, wake up!” Jack pleaded between bobs and gasps for air. Henry didn’t respond.
Jack tried to move Henry toward the bank, but found it difficult. He would push off the floor of the riverbed and surface, then grasp Henry and quickly jerk him toward the bank. Doing so threw off his bobbing, and he would go under far too slowly, reach the bottom later than he was used to, and have to bob back up and down several times just to get enough air and balance to give Henry another shove toward the bank. Jack couldn’t even tell how long he had been crying, and the bank of the river seemed farther than it ever had.
Finally, though it offered him little comfort, Jack felt his feet touch the bottom of the bank, and he could more easily move his brother toward it. Jack dragged Henry and nearly collapsed onto the bank, laying Henry’s top half down on the edge, his lower half still in the water.
“Henry! Hen, wake up!” Henry didn’t respond. “Help!” Jack screamed into the trees nearby. “Somebody help! Mom!”
No reply came, and Jack knew none would. Henry was bleeding from the back of his head, and he didn’t appear to be breathing.
Jack had seen CPR on television, and had learned a little bit about it in some of his classes, but he didn’t think he could actually do it. But there was his brother lying there, calling out to him in his stiff silence, begging him for help. Jack cleared Henry’s mouth of water, and then pressed his own to it.
Jack did his best imitation of the examples he’d seen, but Henry didn’t appear to respond at all. The tears streamed down his face, and between breaths into his brother’s mouth, he continued to call out, until he no longer called words but screamed into the sky.
And then, in the middle of a breath, Henry threw up. Water gushed from his mouth, and he began coughing, sitting up and nearly knocking Jack over in the process. Finally, he gasped for air. Jack, overcome with disbelief, jumped forward and wrapped his arms around his brother.
“What happened?” Henry asked.
“You fell,” Jack said. “You hit your head.”
“Did you save me?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I guess I did.”
The two shared a hug, and a certain closeness that stuck with them for years to come. From then on, it was them versus the world. They had each other, and needed nothing else. They played their make-believe games, and they told each other stories about worlds where children grew up to become heroes and go on quests, where the world didn’t expect anything of them but to do what they wanted.
As they got older, they went through school together, and became well-known as two great friends who couldn’t be separated; brothers until the end. “Brothers until death,” Jack would say. “And kill me if I ever wear a suit and tie,” Henry would reply, and the two would laugh.
They never played by the river again.
****
Jack turned the TV off, and then the phone rang. Jack looked at the caller ID and saw the name illuminated by green LED light: Henry Williams. Excited, he answered it.
“Hey, Hen! What’s going on?”
“Jack, is that you? Is Mom or Dad home?”
“No, they’re out,” Jack said.
“Well, I’m about to head out. I’ll be there in about two hours. Let them know I’m coming.”
“Sure thing.”
“I’ll see you soon, Jackie.”
“Can’t wait,” Jack said. The phone clicked, and Jack put it down.
Henry had moved out at the age of nineteen. He had been offered an internship at a law firm, and taken it without so much as a thought, even though it meant leaving the state. Jack had always been hurt by the speed at which Henry was willing to leave it all behind, and he felt he’d never be ready to leave.
Jack stayed at home. He went to school and studied other things, but had yet to find his calling. Except, of course, for the zombies.
Zombies had become his life. Posters and decorations adorned his bedroom, stacks of zombie movies were piled on every available countertop, and he didn’t own a single video game that didn’t have a zombie in it. He even had a novelty gun case; inside was a fake shotgun and the glass read, in bright red letters, ‘In Case of Zombies, Break the Glass’.
In the meantime, Jack worked at the nearby gas station. He usually had the night shift, and he made minimum wage. He lived at home, in his parents’ basement. That was how he had found himself, 23 years old, still trying to find a calling that could put food on the table. He had ventured into the world of writing fiction a few times, but found himself not quite able to make money off of it, despite how much he enjoyed it.
Regardless of the distance between them, Jack and Henry remained close. They called each other every week, and kept in touch through e-mail, even as Henry became busier and more successful as a lawyer.
****
Jack wandered the house. He straightened things, dusted off counters, made sure everything was neat. He knew it didn’t matter, Henry would hardly care what shape the house was in, but it also made Jack feel like less of a burden if he helped out around the house.
Finally, his mother called. Jack hurried to the phone.
“Hey, Mom,” he said.
“Hi, honey. Has Henry called?”
“Yeah. He’s on his way. He’ll be here in an hour, maybe less.”
“He’ll likely make it home before we do, then. There’s a lot of traffic out here, I think there must be a show at the theater or something.”
“Well, just get home when you can. Henry’s not going anywhere.”
“Did you tidy up?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Good boy. Gotta go. Love you lots!”
“I love you too, Mom,” Jack said. The two hung up.
Once the house was cleaned up, Jack waited eagerly on the couch. Finally there was the knock at the door. Jack rushed to answer it, and as soon as the door was open he flung his arms around his brother. Henry, a little more hesitant, hugged him back.
“Hi, Jack,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”
“How was the flight?” Jack asked, letting go of his Henry.
“Awful, as always. You know how much I hate planes.”
“Well, you’re safe now. Come in!”
Jack motioned for Henry to enter the house, and he did so. Jack helped him with his bags.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you knock. This will always be your home.”
“I don’t live here anymore, Jackie.”
“And what’s with the suit? You don’t have to get all dressed up just for us.”
“Yeah?” Henry said. “And you didn’t have to clean the house or hide your zombie nonsense for me, but you still did.”
Jack shrugged, and smiled. “Guilty as charged.”
Henry
checked his watch, as he often did. He usually didn’t even make note of what time it was, nor care, it was more of a way of organizing his thoughts.
“Are Mom and Dad home?”
“Nope. They’re stuck in traffic. They shouldn’t be long.”
“Is the guest room set up?”
“Yeah, you can put your stuff in there, if you want. It looks just like you left it.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
“Something wrong, Hen?”
“If I wanted to be reminded of my old room all the time, I wouldn’t have left it,” Henry said. Jack was confused.
“Sorry, Henry. I just wanted you to feel at home.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll only be here a few days anyway.”
Jack didn’t feel comforted at all, but he knew his brother well enough to know that he was trying to make him feel better, despite how the words had actually come out.
Jack helped Henry unpack, and then the two sat down in the living room to talk. They chatted for a while, just catching up.
“So how are things in Pennsylvania?” Jack asked.
“A nightmare,” Henry said. “But, it’s home.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. He couldn’t imagine calling anywhere else his home. “Want to watch a movie?”
“One of your zombie flicks? No thanks.”
“Come on, Hen. You can’t just write off a whole genre like that.”
“Sure I can,” Henry said. “They’re preposterous. They’re not real.”
“A lot of movies aren’t real.”
“I have better things to do, Jack.”
“Like what?”
“Work.”
“Work?” Jack laughed. “You came here to take a break from work.”
“Yes, well unlike some people, I have a lot of it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Hen?”
“You know what it means, Jack.”
“I do work!” Jack said.
“What, at the gas station? You don’t make enough to move out.”