The Rise of Peter Troy
Volume 1
The Decayed Ones
By Joseph DiBartolo
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (living or dead), is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication, in any format, can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, without expressed written permission from the author and/or publisher.
The Rise of Peter Troy Vol. 1 The Decayed Ones © 2014 Joseph DiBartolo
Editing by Kristina Circelli (www.circelli.info)
Cover Design by Najla Qamber ([email protected])
Chapter 1
His interest always peaked with each decapitation or annihilation. For ninety minutes or so, Peter Troy was lost in the battle between the living and the decaying dead. His infatuation with zombie films was said by his friends, and now ex-girlfriend, to be unhealthy. He once faked an illness to get out of date night with Lisa to watch A Walking Corpse marathon. Finally, after losing his job as a butcher at the local market, she broke it off with him by reciting her laundry list of reasons why. Atop the list, aside from his zombie obsession, of course, was his inability to get his life together. Peter’s mountain of debt, legal problems, and now unemployed/single status had driven him into a state of solitude, with only the walking deceased to keep him company.
When Peter opened his eyes after possibly one of the worst days in recent memory, he realized it was Sunday, which meant bad movies on the Science Fiction network. He rolled out of bed, staggered to the living room after making a pit stop to relieve his bladder, and flopped his slender physique down on the sofa where he planned on spending the majority of his day. The minimal amount of motivation he had left to do anything productive with his life was now non-existent. Although he’d never admit it, Lisa leaving him and basically calling him a monumental screw-up bothered him. Peter willed himself to rise up from the black leather sofa to put on a pot of coffee. As he waited, he was deep in thought about this ongoing conundrum called life.
A few minutes later he was ready for his caffeine fix. He poured his coffee black and boiling hot. Once his mug was filled, he took a stroll out the front door to check the weather conditions and get some fresh air. The temperature was beginning to dip on the last day of November in South Florida. There was a cool breeze that seemed even cooler on the third floor of his old decrepit condo building. As the wind kicked up a notch, practically combing Peter’s wavy brown hair back in the process, he inhaled deeply and let out a depressing sigh. The former butcher’s downward spiral had no surface in sight to break his free fall.
Peter didn’t have the appearance of a stereotypical butcher. He wasn’t big and brawny, nor did he collect human skin. His insignificant look of mediocrity certainly didn’t turn heads, but he always seemed to land beautiful women, whether it was for a night, or a year in Lisa’s case. Peter was tall and thin with that hard-working, blue-collar look. How he was able to hold on to Lisa for as long as he did was a mystery to even him. The foul smell of the trash bag filled with Chinese food cartons and beer bottles that he’d left outside his door two days ago caught his attention. He snatched up the bag, left his coffee on the ledge overlooking the parking lot below and proceeded toward the garbage chute.
The stench that ascended from the dumpster three floors down was putrid.
“God, that’s awful,” said Peter after dropping the white trash bag down the chute, which would no doubt add to the rancid stink below. The impact of the bag hitting the side of the overflowing dumpster echoed through the building. He was anxious to get back to his coffee and get lost in low-budget, poorly acted flicks, in an attempt to take his mind off one of the worst days of his life. His plans were abruptly interrupted when he glanced over the balcony near the townhouses across the horribly paved street. Peter grabbed hold of the dark brown railing and focused his vision on a woman who looked to be bent over giving mouth-to-mouth to a man twice her size. Then a gust of wind aided him by moving a palm tree, blocking him from a clear view of the seemingly heroic act taking place. When he got a split-second glimpse of the woman, his heart dropped into his stomach before he said, “Lisa.”
Peter pushed off the railing, launching him toward the elevator with every intention of helping her do whatever it was she was doing. He frantically pounded the button to call the elevator. The elevator in his ancient building catered to the elderly so it wasn’t the quickest and was constantly being repaired. The building was starting to fill up again with the snowbirds migrating south for season, as if Florida actually had seasons. Finally, after the lengthy wait, Peter boarded the outdated elevator and began the sluggish plummet. He was pacing back and forth impatiently, cracking his knuckles and saying, “Come on, come on. Hurry up, you slow piece of crap.”
When Peter exited the archaic death trap he saw that Lisa was now on her feet, lingering over the husky man.
“Lisa, Lisa, is that you?” Peter called out.
She looked different from behind. But she was wearing the same pink blouse and Capri pants she’d dumped him in the night before.
“What are you still doing here?” he asked, seeming a bit confused.
She slowly turned to reveal her grayish decaying skin and eyes that resembled bowls of milk.
“Holy hell,” said Peter, quickly stepping back.
Her chin was stained red and her hands were covered in the same shade. Peter began to relax and smirk when he’d come to the conclusion that this was a gag. He shifted his attention to the man lying in a thick pool of blood behind her. All he could see were his legs because the Black Lincoln in the driveway was blocking his view of his torso and head.
“Okay, who is that behind you? Who did you get to participate in this clever little production?” asked Peter.
She was unrecognizable apart from her clothing, and her sway and stagger could rival some of the extras from his favorite films.
“The make-up job is incredible,” he said as he moved in for a closer look.
Without warning, Lisa lunged at him, forcing Peter back into a defensive stance.
“Whoa!” yelled Peter. “You’re taking this apology seriously, if that’s what this is. I really appreciate the effort you’re putting in here but we can probably just go upstairs and talk without all the theatrics.”
Lisa wasn’t saying anything. She just stared lifelessly as she staggered closer, eager to get her hands on him.
“Alright, I think this is really sweet and again, that make-up is amazing, but you can drop the act now,” said Peter, beginning to feel a bit uneasy.
Still there was no response from Lisa other than her pursuit of his throat. Peter started to look around for hidden cameras or others who may be contributing to the performance. His head was on a swivel as he slowly back-peddled across the street but everything else seemed normal. He noticed a small chunk of the horribly paved road was loose. Peter slowly bent to grab it and said, “Okay, Lisa, enough is enough. Drop the act or I’m going to peg you with this.”
She still moved in, now letting out a frightening moan. Peter’s eyes widened when he heard it. That was all the confirmation he needed to realize that wasn’t Lisa anymore. Her sweet, soft voice was gone and what came out was pure evil. He cocked back and threw the small piece of pavement at about half-strength, hitting her right on the forehead. A louder moan was unleashed followed by a quickened stagger as the rock to the head seemed to anger her.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit
,” said Peter, turning and taking off toward the elevator. He already knew the sedated elevator wouldn’t open in time before she was on him. Peter scanned his surroundings for anything he could use as a weapon. His only option was a ceramic flower pot in the pathetic little garden adjacent to the elevator. The moaning corpse of his once beautiful girlfriend was getting louder. When he snatched up the orange pot and quickly turned, she was just a few feet from him and closing fast. His heart was pounding and sweat dripped from his forehead. He took a deep breath and sprung toward her, smashing the pot over her head, sending her to the ground hard. Blood squirted from every orifice, both old and new ones.
“Oh my god,” said Peter, a little more horrified now.
His hands were trembling and slightly wounded from the ceramic pot breaking in them. Blood dripped and emotions ran wild as he stared at Lisa, bewildered by the circumstances. She was still moaning and attempting to get back up. Peter’s eyes began to tear. He gazed at her, or whatever she now was, with total disbelief.
“This is impossible. This can’t be happening. Lisa, please stop. Don’t make me do this. Please just stay down,” he pleaded with her.
His words fell on deaf ears as she still tried to get to her feet.
“Damn you,” said Peter, charging at her and stomping violently on her head, over and over again until there was nothing but a jumble of brains and black blood. He continued to repeat himself, “This is impossible. This can’t be happening.”
Peter paced back and forth in front of the annihilated mess of his ex-girlfriend, running his hand through his thick brown hair. He was trying to make sense of it. He was trying to validate it. But no matter what scenario he played out in his head, it always ended with her turning into a zombie.
Chapter 2
Peter spent the prolonged ride in the elevator wondering if he should call the police or just simply get the hell out of there. Before the doors fully opened, he squeezed through and darted down the third floor hallway. His stride was interrupted when he looked over the balcony to see that the fat man Lisa was feasting on was no longer in sight.
“Unbelievable,” shouted Peter.
He gripped the railing firmly and started laughing in the most delirious way possible. Even after bashing Lisa’s skull in, he still thought he could be dreaming. As if he fell asleep on the couch watching some has-been actor play a marine biologist who is trying to kill a shark/octopus. Either that or it was a full mental breakdown. He thought that his streak of bad luck and depression could’ve sent him into a state of insanity. After a hard pinch and a smack to the face he was convinced that he wasn’t dreaming. Lisa became infected and was a flesh-eating walking corpse, and he killed her.
Peter leaned over the balcony to try and locate the man Lisa was enjoying before he’d interrupted her. And he figured there must be at least one more because someone else had to infect her. He was unlucky in his efforts so he bolted back in his place and locked the door. Now leaning against the door, Peter attempted to gather his thoughts and make sense of them. After peeking out the window, puzzled and flustered, he grabbed the remote and started flipping channels. He had so many questions. Was this an isolated incident? If not, how far did this thing spread? How did Lisa change into that horrid specimen? Peter frantically raced through the channels looking for answers. All of a sudden out of his peripheral vision he noticed someone, or something, passing by his window. With instinct taking over, he ran into the kitchen and went straight to the knife holder. He was lethal with a blade thanks to his many years of service as a butcher. Weapon in hand, he was ready to take on whatever it was that was out there.
“Hello, hello,” a female voice called from outside, followed by distraught knocking.
If Peter’s years of film education taught him anything, it was that zombies didn’t speak. Although he was still uncertain if Lisa was a zombie or just infected by something or someone with an unknown virus, he kept his seven-inch butcher knife ready to wield for either one.
“Yeah, who are you? What do you want?” he yelled back at her.
“It’s Lena from down the hall. Please open the door. Something is wrong. Please just open the door,” she pleaded.
Peter immediately opened the door and let her in. Her tiny body was shivering but not from the temperature outside.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“No, I’m not. I went downstairs to get the mail from yesterday and I saw a dead body down there. I don’t know who or honestly what it was but I couldn’t stick around long enough to find out. There was a man, I think it was Mr. Granderson from across the street, but he looked different. He looked deformed. Actually he looked like a..”
“A zombie,” said Peter, finishing her sentence.
“I know it sounds ridiculous but I swear it’s true. Come downstairs with me,” said Lena, still a trembling mess. She was tiny and gorgeous. Her hair was silky black and her skin was flawless. Lena was the girl you’d see out jogging everyday no matter the weather conditions, and it showed.
“I believe you, Lena. And that dead body down there, that’s Lisa,” he said.
“Lisa, like your girlfriend, Lisa,” Lena replied.
“Yes, well she was actually my ex-girlfriend as of last night but that’s irrelevant. Oh yeah, and I’m the one who killed her, or it, or whatever the hell.”
Lena took a step back and asked, “Okay, what the hell is going on?”
“I had no choice. She attacked me and there was no other option. Something is going on out there. I was just about to see if there is anything else like this going on in other areas,” said Peter as he headed back over to the television.
“I tried calling the police before I came over but there was no answer,” said Lena, following close behind Peter.
“No answer at the police station. That’s odd,” he replied.
“That’s what I thought. I called three times. It just rings and rings and rings.”
“If the T.V. isn’t talking then we should probably just go over there. The station is only a mile or so from my old job.”
“What do you mean, your old job?” asked Lena.
“I got the axe from the market, downsizing or some bullshit,” said Peter in a disgusted tone.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Peter.”
“Never mind that, I can’t find a single story on the news related to this bizarre shit going on. This is just getting weirder and weirder. I think we should head over and see what the hell the coppers are doing.”
“But that means we’d have to go downstairs. Mr. Granderson is down there, but he’s not himself. He’s definitely sick or something,” said Lena.
“We’ll just take the stairs. Lisa didn’t seem to move all that fast until I hit her with a chunk of the road,” Peter replied.
“Alright, but I’m staying uncomfortably close to you,” said Lena as they neared the front door.
Peter seemed more than fine with that arrangement as he grabbed his butcher knife off the table. Now being very single with the possibility of the apocalypse on the horizon, he figured it wouldn’t be the worst idea to explore some options.
“Wait here,” said Peter before disappearing down the hall and into his laundry/storage room. When he returned, not ten seconds later, he was holding a wooden baseball bat. He handed it to Lena and said, “Go for their heads.”
Chapter 3
It was chilly, even more so with the mild wind gusts. Peter and Lena exited his condo and went left to the staircase. He went out first in case of trouble lurking in the darkness of the stairwell. When they reached the bottom he looked at the shivering little woman and said, “Alright, let’s see which way would be quickest to my truck.”
“I have my keys on me in case we can’t get to yours,” said Lena.
Peter nodded and said, “Stay close to me.”
“Oh, you can count on it, buddy,” she replied, grabbing the sleeve of his black T-shirt.
He slowly opened the door, poked his head out, and s
tudied the landscape.
“All looks quiet. Let’s move,” he said.
Lena looked hilarious with the huge Louisville slugger in her minuscule hands. The bat was more than half her size but she looked ready to swing for the fences. They swiftly moved, vigilant and ready for Mr. Granderson and possibly any others unfortunate enough to have met his same fate. Peter was still reeling from the fact that he’d just brutally slaughtered his ex-girlfriend. But he stayed collected, knowing he had to keep Lena safe and get some answers. She was shadowing his every step, stopping when he stopped and speeding up when he sped up.
“I’m scared,” she whispered as they neared the elevator.
The stench from Lisa’s decaying corpse was already unbearable. When they turned the corner Peter quickly put his arm out to stop Lena from going any farther. Lisa’s rotting body wasn’t only attracting flies, but Mr. Granderson as well. He looked to be digging in with purpose. Almost as if he was getting revenge for her chowing down on him. Peter signaled to Lena to be quiet as they attempted to sneak by the colossal hog. Nothing was distracting him from his meal. When they were just about home free, Lena stopped, turned, and took a home run swing at Mr. Granderson. She made good contact with the right side of his face, but it wasn’t enough.
“What the hell are you doing?” Peter shouted, turning to assist Lena in the deconstruction of the three-hundred pound man.
She kept whipping the bat around like a mad woman while saying, “We have to kill him for good or he could get someone else.”
Mr. Granderson was no longer in a zombie-like state. He began acting like a crazed lunatic on PCP. His moans were growing louder and the shots from little Lena were proving ineffective.
The Rise of Peter Troy: The Decayed Ones Page 1