BloodoftheDead[UndeadWorldTrilogyBookOne]

by A. P. Fuchs

  They kept walking, hoping Mr. Shank would look up from the sidewalk and see them. He never did and kept his eyes to the ground as if he was verifying his feet were in fact touching the pavement with each step.

  Shank was about forty feet ahead of them, still on the other side.

  "Hey!” Des called out, waving his hand in the air.

  Billie grabbed him by the wrist and yanked his hand down. “What are you doing?"

  "What? It's Mr. Shank. What's to worry?"

  "Are you blind? There's something wrong with him."

  "Get outta here. Shank's always been a little weird, for starters. And if you think just because he's walking slow that he's a zombie, that doesn't prove anything. The guy lost a foot in World War Two. He's got one of them prosthetic things and always walks slow with a bit of a limp. He uses his ca—” Des stopped talking then stopped walking.

  "What?"

  "Shank always has a cane. Now he doesn't."

  Her heart sank then tripled its beat. “Oh."

  Des's brow furrowed. “Hey! Mr. Shank! Yo!"

  Shank kept walking, eyes to the ground.

  Des hollered again. “Hey, you dead or something!"

  "Idiot! What kind of a question is that? He's not hard of hearing, is he?"

  "A little. Usually have to talk a bit louder when talking to him, but I don't have to shout or anything not unlike my dad, who couldn't hear a gun go off even if you put the barrel right up to his ear."

  "Okay, anyway..."

  Shank's legs dragged beneath him, most notably his left foot, as if it were giving him extra trouble today. He was almost right across from them.

  "Should I call out again?” Des asked.

  Billie focused her eyes and took a good hard look at Shank's face, checking for any sign of death. From what she could see from about twenty feet away, his skin was worn and weathered like any old man's, his eyes shadowed by the brim of a gray fedora. Bright spikes of gray-white hair jutted out from beneath the hat. The gray dated suit he wore didn't show any signs of tear or blood from where she was standing.

  "Okay, just one more time. If he doesn't hear us, let's just move on and if he is all right, you can tell him we passed by him next time you see him,” she said.

  "'Kay.” Des cleared his throat, whistled, then shouted, “Mr. Shank!” He waved his hand. “Yoohoo!"

  Nothing.

  "Okay, let's move it, then,” Billie said.

  No sooner did they get going than Mr. Shank faltered on the sidewalk across the way, stumbled a step, and dropped to his knees.

  "Des...” she started.

  "Oh great. Maybe he is alive. Zombies don't do that.” Des bolted across the street.

  "Des! Wait!” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Moron,” she muttered and took off after him.

  Mr. Shank had fallen face first just before Des got to him. Des was already on all fours and had his head to the old man's when Billie caught up to him.

  "Is he...?” she asked.

  Des shook his head. “Can't tell. He might be breathing, but with the way his arm is, blocking his face, I can't get close enough to be sure."

  Koom! Something fell over in the distance, making Billie jump. Sounded like a garbage can had been toppled over.

  "Here.” She knelt down beside Shank's body. She thought that with all the death and undeath she'd seen over the past year, she'd be used to the idea of being around the sick or dead. She wasn't. Slowly, she reached out and was about to grab Mr. Shank's wrist so she could move his arm away from his face. When she touched the soft fabric of his suit, she jerked her hand away. If he was dead ... “Move his arm."

  "Fine. Here.” Des handed her the bar from his bedroom closet, then placed a pair of hands under Shank's forearm and gently adjusted it so he could have access to the old man's face. “You're such a girl, you know that?"

  "Sue me for being born this way.” She smiled.

  Des smiled, too, then leaned in close and put an ear next to Shank's mouth.

  "Hear anything?” she asked, squeezing the bar, desperately needing to relieve some stress.

  "Hang on a sec. Can't hear nothing with you jabbering."

  She stuck her tongue out at him even though he didn't see.

  "I can't...” he said and got closer to the ground. He turned his head so he was facing her and scooted to the side with his ear closer to Shank's mouth. “The angle..."

  Billie's mouth was dry. She wriggled her tongue in her mouth, trying to get some spit going. “I don't think he's alive, Des."

  Des closed his eyes, brought a finger to his lips, shushing her, and waited.

  Putting one palm on her thighs, the other still holding the bar beside her leg, she straightened her back, took a deep breath, then checked the sidewalk for the rats again. The sidewalk was bare.

  She looked back at Des. He opened his eyes, his ear still close to Mr. Shank's mouth.

  "Can't hear anything,” he said.

  "Check his pulse."

  "Okay."

  Mr. Shank's arm snapped up from his side, jerked into the air, then dropped onto Des's head.

  Des screamed and tried to pull away but Shank's palm on his skull kept him pinned.

  It could have been the sudden movement that did it, but suddenly Billie's eyes were drawn to Shank's other arm, the one she couldn't see when she had studied him from across the street. A moist, dark red patch was on his biceps, the gray material ripped, as if something had bit into it and torn it away.

  "Des!” she screamed, dropping the bar. She grabbed him by the shoulders, tugging him back, trying to free him from the old guy's hold. The man wouldn't let go. “Get off him, you...” She kicked Shank in the underside of the forearm, sending the arm up and loosening its grip on Des.

  Des scrambled backward on his belly then got to his feet. “Did you see, did you see?"

  "Run!” she said. She began to run but had to stop abruptly.

  She hadn't seen them coming, not with her attention on Des and Mr. Shank.

  A dozen undead stepped slowly toward her, some dragging their feet, others managing fairly well considering they had no life in their legs.

  She and Des turned around and both stopped short when they were met by fifteen more coming from the other side.

  Billie could scarcely breathe.

  A soft scraping sound signaled Mr. Shank was getting to his feet. The old man straightened, dropped his shoulders as if they were too heavy for him, and started moving toward them, one arm out, the other trying to extend but not seeming to get past stomach level.

  Not far behind the old man's feet was the bar from Des's closet. She was closest to it.

  She checked the zombies; she had maybe three seconds before it'd be too hard and too late to move. Carefully, her eyes on Mr. Shank's white ones, she crouched down, and duck-walked closer, reaching for the bar. Shank stumbled a step to the side, blocking it from her. She didn't know if the move was intentional or not.

  "Uh, Billie?” Des said, poking her in the back.

  She spun around.

  They were surrounded, the zombies having formed a ring around them.

  There was nowhere to run.

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  7: In a Swarm of Death

  Des tried to swallow the cotton ball at the back of his throat. The tissue back there was so dry that he coughed and had a hard time catching his breath. Billie, so transfixed on the mass of zombies surrounding them, didn't look his way to see if he was all right.

  When he was finally able to breathe, he looked at her with watery eyes.

  "We're going to die,” he whispered, the words dripping with defeat.

  Billie only nodded.

  Should he tell her how he felt about her? If this was the end, what could it hurt? It's not like it would matter in a few moments anyway.

  I love you, he said to her in his mind.

  He wished she could hear his thoughts. He wanted her know, wanted her to understand
that despite the world nearly at its end, despite all the loss she'd suffered in the past year, despite the hopelessness that plagued each and every day, there was someone who cared about her.

  Deeply.

  I can't ... I can't say anything. Not like this. It'd be selfish of me, if I did. It could also backfire and confuse her and I don't want her last thoughts to be something like, “What do I say back ‘cause I don't feel the same?"

  The zombies moved closer, their white eyes filled with hate. Their mouths hung slack, eager to taste fresh meat, so raw and still filled with fresh blood.

  "I have to try,” he said quietly.

  "What?” she replied softly, her eyes settling on a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair. A part of the woman's cheek was missing as was a chunk of her right hand. Her pale skin was the same washed-out gray as the rest of the dead.

  "I'm going to fight them."

  "You are?"

  The zombies closed in.

  Des screamed and lashed out, swinging his right arm up in a wild arc and bringing it back down on the side of an elderly zombie's face, clubbing him on the cheekbone. The dead man's head angled to the side, lolled for a second, then was brought upright again. Des kicked him in the groin then moved for the undead teenage boy beside him, knocking aside the kid's arms. He brought his forearm across the teen's throat, whacking it in the neck. The kid fell back. The other zombies drew in, their arms swinging out. Billie shrieked and disappeared beneath a mass of smelly flesh, rubbery arms and claw-like fingers.

  "Hey!” Des tried moving toward her. He was shoved back as three dead women cut him off and pushed him away into the waiting arms of a large black zombie who, judging by the smell and decay of his skin, must have been dead for the better part of the year. The big fella's blood-caked mouth opened wide, his once-pearly-white teeth now faded to yellow with black marks like burnt corn. Des wriggled himself to the side within the man's grasp just as the guy's teeth were about to take a chunk out of his shoulder.

  Tears sprang from the corners of his eyes. He hadn't meant to cry; he just couldn't help it. Panicked instinct and preparation for death took over and no matter how hard he resisted the black guy's hold, the more he found himself entangled within his enormous plaid shirt-covered arms.

  Billie's cries went from loud to quiet to loud again as she struggled to get out from under the three undead on top of her. Des couldn't see her; he could only hear her.

  "Help!” she screamed.

  "Bill—” Des was cut off when a chubby, blood-slicked finger stabbed into his mouth. It tickled the uvula at the back of his throat and he immediately threw up, warm puke gushing out of his mouth like cruddy water out of an overflowing toilet. Gravity took over and the puke splashed back to the rear of his throat, cutting off his air.

  Something firm and hard gripped his legs. Someone tugged on his arm and yanked so hard he thought he was going to be torn apart.

  BOOM!

  Cool liquid splashed on Des's face.

  BOOM! Crchk. BOOM! BOOM!

  More cool liquid, sticky and grimy.

  Crchk. BOOM! BOOM!

  "Des!” Billie shouted. “Ah!"

  Des fell to the ground, his shoulder blades smacking into the pavement. The stinging impact jolted him and his eyes shot open. Black blood covered his vision. He smeared it away. An old dead lady with bright white hair and olive skin stumbled over and stood over him, her murky white eyes lost in a sea of rage. She jerked out both arms, fingers splayed, and lunged on top of him. Her growls and high-pitched shrieks consumed Des's ears. The funk of the air emanating from the hole in her throat made him gag.

  He spat a runny wad of bloody puke in her face. With everything he had, he brought in his fist and clocked her in the temple.

  "Get off!"

  Crchk.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  Crchk.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  The zombies wailed, growled, gurgled. The thud-thud-thud of bodies hitting the ground rumbled along the pavement, Des's ears drinking it up.

  Crchk. BOOM! BOOM!

  The gun shots rang out and the wall of bodies that had once loomed over him began to thin then, after a few more moments and fire-cracking blasts, were gone altogether.

  Des coughed, rolled over onto his stomach and emptied his guts again. Head swimming, he took a trembling breath and slowly got onto his hands and knees.

  "Stand up,” a voice said off to the side.

  "Don't pull so hard,” Billie said, though to whom, Des couldn't see.

  What sounded like the soles of shoes scraping on pavement made Des turn his head to the side so he could get a better look at what was going on. Just beyond a carpet of five bodies, a young man with a shaved head was pulling Billie to her feet. The guy pulled on her wrist so hard when he helped her up that he nearly tossed her into the air. His large gun was aimed at her head the entire time.

  "Get away from her,” Des said, his voice hoarse and just above a whisper.

  "Quiet,” the man said, his green eyes rock hard, his gaze not just penetrating but downright cold.

  "Oh, man...” Des pushed himself to his feet, teetered a step, then moved toward them. He tripped and fell when his foot caught the underside of a zombie's arm, and he landed on top of another corpse.

  A strong hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him to his feet.

  A young man with a weathered face that made him look ten years older than he probably was stared at him then gave him a push to the chest.

  "Hey, watch it!” Des said.

  The man pointed the gun at Des's head. Immediately, Billie lunged at the guy. The man caught her, spun her around, and locked her arm in a chicken wing. Billie, bent over at the waist, her arm forced at an odd angle behind her back, yelped from the pain. She tried to move but each effort seemed to make the pain worse because her face pinched up, her lips pursed, her brow furrowed.

  Nearly out of breath, Des stared down the barrel of the gun. “What do you want?"

  The man seemed to consider his words, then said, “Take off your clothes."

  "What?” Des replied.

  "Wh-what...” Billie said.

  "You, too,” he told her.

  Des wiped some more blood off his face. “You're kidding."

  The man cocked the hammer of the gun. “No. You got four seconds."

  "Ju-just listen ... listen to him...” Billie said, her face still contorted in pain.

  The man let her go. She stumbled to the side a step. The look of pain never left her face as she moved beside Des.

  "One,” the man said.

  "Grrgh. Fine!” Billie huffed and began removing her shirt.

  "What are you doing?” Des said, looking over at her.

  "Do you want to get shot?” she asked him.

  "Two.” The man took a step closer.

  "No, but..."

  Billie's shirt was already off and she was working her belt buckle so she could remove her pants. “You always make things so difficult. Don't blame me if you get a hole blown through your face."

  "Three."

  "So the guy comes, kills some zombies then wants us naked?"

  "Let's go, folks,” the man said. “Four."

  Des raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Chill out, crackerjack. I'll—"

  "Now's not a good time for wisecracks, Des,” Billie said.

  "All right. Whatever.” He quickly kicked off his shoes and took off his tank top and pants and let them drop by his feet. Don't blame me if in a few minutes we're walking around like the rest of the creatures, gray and naked. “Do you want our gitch, too?"

  The man shook his head. Billie looked relieved as she stood there huddled with her thighs pressed together and arms covering her chest.

  "Take off your socks. Both of you,” the guy said, gun still aimed at them.

  They did.

  The man moved over to Billie, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard, keeping her in place. Gun pointed at Des, he told him to turn aro
und.

  No, this isn't awkward at all, he thought and, arms in the air, turned around, moving slowly, still sore. He felt a palm graze his back then wipe off some of the blood that must have gotten back there.

  "Okay, now you,” the man said.

  Billie slowly spun around in her spot. The guy moved her hands away from her chest and looked her over. Des half-expected the man to have some sort of sleazy smile crease his face, but instead the man conveyed zero emotion nor even pleasure in looking at such a beautiful girl wearing nothing but her underwear.

  The man lowered the gun. “Get dressed,” he said and turned his back to them.

  This was it. This was his chance. Grimacing, Des raised his fist and was about to plow it into the back of the guy's head when Billie stopped him.

  He must have looked at her incredulously because she quietly said, “Don't. If he was after us or wanted something, he would have killed us. His turning around is a sign of trust."

  "So, what, we're supposed to trust him, now?"

  "What's the matter with you? He just saved our lives. Stop acting like such a guy. The dude was checking us over for bites."

  "Then why didn't he say so?"

  With a smile that Des thought was completely inappropriate given the circumstance, she said, “Where's the fun in that?"

  Rolling his eyes, he scooped up his clothes and got dressed as quickly as possible, minding himself not to let his eyes wander over to Billie lest she should see him and lay into him later. She was the only friend he had and the last thing he wanted was to blow that friendship never mind anything else that might—might—transpire between them.

  When they finished dressing, Billie cleared her throat, hands on hips. Des crossed his arms.

  The man turned around, keeping his eyes locked on theirs.

  He pointed his gun at them.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  8: More

  BOOM!

  The shot rang out. Joe didn't have to be beside these two to know they heard the bullet whistle by; it zipped between their heads and into the bald, undead fellow who dragged his feet as he came up behind them.

  The two ducked at the noise, covering their ears. When they straightened, they followed his gaze to the zombie lying on the pavement behind them, blood pooling out of the dead man's head.