Way of the Undead

by Boggess, Michael

  “What! Who’s dead?” Sheriff Houser asked, lowering his gun slowly.

  Joe looked off to the back of the store, saying, “The manager… Andy, he was dead when I arrived to work the other day.”

  “Was he dead or like zombie-dead?” Mark asked.

  “Well, he was walking around, but he was already dead,” Joe said frantically.

  “Watch him,” Mark said.

  Once to the back area, a loud banging could be heard coming from inside a recycle bin. Buried under a pile of crushed cardboard boxes, the cries for help could be heard.

  “Help! Help!”

  “Are you Andy?”

  Sheriff Houser quickly started tossing cardboard boxes out of the bin and off to the side.

  “Help!” Andy insisted, clutching a gaping wound on his forehead.

  “We’re here!” Sheriff Houser shouted, extending his hand to the poor, mangled up employee.

  “What happened?” Steven asked as he made a soft pallet for Andy to be rested on from out of many discarded cardboard boxes.

  “Joe tried to kill me.”

  Upon first statement, Andy began riving in pain and crying out in agony as Sheriff Houser and Jake hoisted his badly mangled body out from deep within the box crusher.

  With his suspicions confirmed, Mark took a pair of handcuffs that the Sheriff had given him—quickly catching Joe off guard before placing them firmly around his wrist’s before he even knew what was happening.

  “What did I do,” Joe asked as he pleaded for mercy—dropping to one knee.

  “Did you try to kill this man,” the Sheriff asked, questioning the actions of the store clerk.

  Joe raised up a little as he set on his knees with his hand’s cuffed behind his back. “No! I don’t know why he would say that. He’s crazy!”

  The Sheriff walked up to Joe sensing he was lying. “So, why did you tell us that you thought that he was a zombie earlier when we first met?”

  “I hate to say it sir, especially at a time like this when we could have used your help, but you are under arrest,” the Sheriff proclaimed, trying to figure out what to do with his new prisoner.

  “Let’s take him back to the Pharmacy. I think I have a place for him,” Mark said.

  Near the box crusher, Steven tried his best at treating Andy’s wounds. “We need to get him back over to the pharmacy where we can get him better treated.”

  With the prisoner subdued, the group made a makeshift stretcher out of folding chairs and cardboard boxes—carefully transporting Andy over to the pharmacy for immediate treatment. As Mark and Sheriff Houser transported their first prisoner up to the roof, they were in disbelief that someone could treat another human being like that.

  “Just let him rot somewhere,” Mark said jokingly as he escorted the prisoner to the roof.

  “I say we feed him to those creatures out there,” Sheriff Houser insisted, walking behind the pair as Mark continued to escort the hand-cuffed prisoner.

  Joe had begun to sober up, making him even more unpleasant to be around. Joe jerked due to the taunting of the new Sheriff before sending spit flying in his direction. Mark quickly brought the prisoner’s feet out from under him—slamming him down to the ground.

  “You won’t get away with this. I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!” Joe screamed irately as the Sheriff, Mark, and Tyler, walked on over to the next couple of hatches that led down into the various business’s within the mini-mall.

  “Can we go ahead and make sure that there isn’t any survivors at the Dojo?” Tyler asked, concerned.

  Mark used his tools to cut open the hatch before going on to pry open the top entrance.

  “Do you two know what the word Dojo stands for? It means place of the way,” Tyler said, entering down the ladder into the dark karate studio.

  Mark shined his flashlight around. “This must be Larry’s office.”

  “Halt! Who goes there!” a loud, but familiar voice demanded—softly stepping out of the shadows.

  Out of the shadows and from behind a pair of nunchucks, Mark knew the voice well.

  “It’s me, Mark Smith, and my brother Tyler, with the new Sheriff.”

  “Come on down!” Larry shouted.

  “Sensei!” Tyler said, looking over at his mentor with relief.

  “Am I glad to see you,” Larry said. “I heard the fighting out in the streets yesterday with the Army and all, but haven’t heard anything since. From what I could tell, they swept through and got nothing really accomplished. Hell, those things are still out there roaming the streets like nothing happened. For a while, I kind of got the feeling that I was all alone in this.”

  “Are you by yourself?” Tyler asked.

  “Yep! I haven’t had a single student in days. But, I ended up getting stuck here when this all fist started to go down. I wasn’t sure if I was going to have anybody coming to train, being on call and all. I watched as the streets became flooded with people trying to leave, and I watched as town quickly became over run with those things.”

  A brief moment of silence fell over the room, and then the unmistakable shouting of obscenities could faintly be heard from atop the roof.

  “Who’s that?” Larry asked, looking up through the well-lit opening to the roof.

  “It’s a prisoner we had to chain up there,” Sheriff Houser explained, pointing to the vicinity of where the noise was coming from.

  “I opened my store up a few times—running out into the parking-lot to lend help to a few innocent bystanders. I was just barely able to fight off those dead things enough to get myself back into the store safely.”

  “You did the right thing. They’re probably thousands of those things out there by now,” Tyler said.

  The patrol had ended; every business was checked, and all locks and windows secure. The mini-mall was much safer, and now accessible to all survivors: food, drinks, and supplies were now of an abundance.

  Confined, Joe continually found ways to be a nuisance. Having to be guarded and fed twice daily, life should not be easy for an attempted murderer, the Sheriff figured. Mark and Sheriff Houser thoroughly and tightly secured the loading dock of the electronics store—creating an impenetrable jail cell for the prisoner to be housed away from the survivors. During this time, Joe began to fall further and further into rage and darkness. With the lack of human contact and an already poor outlook on life, and combined with everything going on in the world, his mind and body was further warped and twisted due to heavy drug use over the years. Joe began to devise ways out of his cell—plotting revenge on his captures—seeing their bloody demise at his hand.

  The group of survivors were now a little more at peace, trying to enjoy the shelter of the mini-mall. Although the power was still out, the group would have two meals a day with various different kinds of snacks to tide them over. Once Mark’s legend had begun to spread amongst the survivors, his powers were further exploited by the group. Super-powered feats were viewed in amazement, with the consensus being that the Anti-virus that had miraculously cured him had also been the major factor in his new found abilities. Once infected and on the brink of death, Mark was now at polar opposites with the zombie virus that once coursed through his veins.

  Larry Williams, having been a big part of various over-the-top Hollywood blockbusters had only seen such feat’s performed by Mark that could rival some of the best choreographed special effects scenes in any film. While back at Larry’s Karate Studio, when tested—Mark virtually showed no limit to his strength and stamina. As he laid patiently and calmly on the bench, staring up at the bar in front of him—Larry and Steven continued stacking plate after plate of 50lb weight onto the weight bench—eventually causing it to reach its maximum weight. Mark new the outcome of the test, viewing the massive amount of weight as beneath his means of strength; although, a small sense of fear began to come over him as thoughts of his former self started to wane heavily on his mind, remembering that the sheer obstacle only a week prior might hav
e crushed him in a failed attempt. The group, including Sheriff Houser stood around, watching in anticipation as the bar was lifted. The group watched as he set nearly three times his body weight back down on the bench after a succession of powerful reps.

  Larry Williams was amazed, unable to get the thought of Mark’s potential out of his mind. “Hey brother… I’ve seen what you can do. Seeing how we have nothing but time around here, how about I teach you everything I know about Karate?”

  “I’d love that,” Mark said, ready to further test his newfound strength and stamina.

  Larry bowed, showing a sign of respect to his future student. “You’ve astonished me. I can only imagine the things you could be capable of. Well, I’ve taught your brother for years, if you’re even half as good as him—mixed with your gifts—you’ll be unstoppable.”

  Chapter 22 way of the undead

  A few days went bye. The group of survivors watched from the rooftop as gruesome zombies continue to roam the streets in search of food. Avoiding the stormy weather, much comfort was found once realizing that town’s power was back on for good. Mark rested on a soft cot next to Stephanie, fighting the urge to get intimate—fearing even a kiss might spread a possibly still present virus. Although, having just been cured of his infection, he knew that he possibly could be a carrier.

  As Joe paced back and forth in the small, cramped and confined loading dock, a weak unsure sounding voice called out to him from the other side of the sealed tight door. “Lunch time!”

  Joe stood patiently by the small trap in the door that Sheriff Houser and Mark installed in order to pass meals and reading materials through. Within the makeshift cell, Joe watched as the small trap opened, with a sack lunch being handed in to him.

  Joe’s eyes became squinty. “Hey man, do me a solid,” Joe pleaded as he bent down and peaked out the small opening.

  “No way. I was told to bring you your meals and that’s all. I was told to not even speak to you.”

  “Why?” Joe yelled, annoyed as the teenager closed the flap.

  “They’re full of it. They aren’t even the real police. They don’t even have the right to be locking people up.”

  Day after day went bye as Sensei Williams trained Mark from beginner, white belt—nearly all the way up to the rank of black belt. With nothing but time, and what normally would take many years, somehow, Mark was able to learn quicker. Mark’s exceptional, newly enhanced memory, agility, and stamina, helped him ascended the ranks in only a matter of weeks.

  Larry Williams poured every bit of knowledge and technique into his new student—watching as near perfect mastery was being displayed after being shown something only once.

  Sensei Williams trained his student with vigor in the martial arts—putting everything he had into his training. Mark’s speed and aptitude to learn defied all logic. As Mark became more and more confident in his new-found abilities, he learned to incorporate once impossible acrobatic flips into his new techniques, allowing him to further evade any attacks. One day, Sensei Williams, seeing no end in sight to Mark’s immense skills began to cram year’s worth of teaching into the final few lessons. One new achievement after another, belt after belt, notch after notch—Mark was finally ready to prove his worth as the testing to grant him the rank of black belt was soon to be under way. To even be granted the rank of black belt, part of the rules were thrown out due to Mark’s increased aptitude. Having little else to prove, to be granted the rank of black belt without the time constraints normally implanted in all training was to be a great honor, one not easily bestowed from master to pupil. Given Mark’s veracity, feet’s of strength and stamina were easily accomplished, almost without breaking a sweat: hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups. As the testing for black belt was underway, Mark showed exceptional knowledge; the information from the hand book he was given was recited word for word.

  Next Mark proved his basic knowledge of all advanced style stances, holds, and strikes, from each belt level, showing his master such subtle techniques as taught to him from day one of white belt training as when a punch is thrown, knowing that one should always be aiming for a target.

  “Excellent,” Sensei Williams said.

  The ceremony continued as Steven, Tyler, and Sheriff Houser, Jake, and Stephanie, all observed Mark’s progression in sheer amazement. Roughly all nine academy kata’s were performed, and then one created form from his own repertoire. Fifteen different self-defense moves from various levels of expertise were displayed, showing perfect power, technique, focus, and timing. Mark readily declined the breaking of three boards, drawing an air of silence in the dojo; the ante was raised to five concrete paving bricks. Visualizing, Mark measured the bricks, viewing his target—striking with a hard knife hand chop—shattering all five bricks into dust. The testing was successfully completed.

  “My son, you are now a black belt.”

  With word having spread of the accomplishment, Antonio immediately began to prepare the feast for Mark’s graduation ceremony. What was left of the perishable food items were to be cooked. Seafood as well as steaks and baked potatoes, along with lots of fruits and vegetables were on the menu. Anything with a short shelf life or an expiration date was to be served. Antonio went to work baking a large cake for the commencement ceremony.

  “You did amazing!” Stephanie said proudly.

  “Thanks, you mean everything to me.”

  During the celebrating, Joe sat angrily on a dingy military cot, waiting for his dinner to be served. Weeks of near solitary confinement had twisted and warped his already fractured mind. Joe’s personality disorder was undiagnosed, causing him to end up in a juvenile penitentiary at the age of fifteen for stealing cars. Joe immediately fell in with the wrong crowd, having joined the ranks of one of the area’s most violent and prominent street gangs.

  “What took you so long,” Joe said.

  Opening the door flap, Taylor quickly and discretely handed Joe a crowbar. “You didn’t get that from me.”

  “Thanks bro! I’ll remember this. I’m getting out of here tonight,” Joe said as he clutched the crowbar in his hand.

  The young naive teenager, uncomfortable about what he’d done, headed back to the group of survivors, trying not to think of what he’d just done.

  Chapter 23 way of the undead

  “Everyone, Taylor’s dead! And our prisoner, Joe, has escaped. He left the front door of the electronics store wide-open. Me and Sheriff Houser just got through making a check,” Mark said, beginning to clean blood off the blade of his long sword.

  “What! How did that happen?” Antonio asked, thinking hard about the whole situation as he put on a fresh pot of coffee.

  Sheriff Houser stepped forward. “From what I could tell, Taylor had been smuggling Joe contraband, possibly even having a hand in his escape. I found cigarettes all over Joe’s cell… somebody had to be supplying them. Also, Joe had the use of a crowbar—and by the looks of it, he’d pried open the door from the inside of his cell. When we noticed that Taylor was gone last night, me and Mark decided to go check on our prisoner. When we arrived, there was about ten of them, with a couple standing over him.”

  Stephanie sat down, waiting for the coffee to finish. “You’re telling me you two took on ten zombies all by yourself. I’m amazed but, we need to start carrying radios around here. Especially with that scumbag Joe out there and on the loose. I don’t feel as safe being cooped up in here, knowing he’s out there somewhere holding a grudge.”

  With a killer on the loose, with the mini-mall safe and secure, Mark decided to get dressed, before stepping out into the cold of night for some fresh mountain air. Mark placed on dark clothes with a toboggan, dressing warmly in all black to further increase the use of stealth. Aside from eliminating the threat of an increasing horde of zombies taking over town, a promise had been made. “I told James I would come back for him,” Mark said, unable to sleep. “Helping James is a definite promise, one I intend to keep.”

  Mark se
cured his holster—making sure his revolvers were loaded.

  He then placed his katana into its carrying case strapped secure to his back. He then stepped out into the cold, dark of night, stealthily creeping, sticking mainly to the shadows and crevices, just beyond the reach of any of the still functioning streetlights. Upon fighting, a reflection was noticed, emanating directly from his blade and the streetlight. The more zombies slayed, meant the duller the reflection became. As zombies slowly lurked about, a few unsuspecting creepers were caught by surprise. Silent-but-deadly attacks were unleashed. All across town, the zombie death toll began to rise. Rotting carcasses were left in the street to rot. His path of destruction resulted in over fifty zombie kills in as little as an hour, and all without the use of a single bullet. Over the course, little fatigue was felt: Mark’s unusual increased stamina was to thank. During combat, Mark began to feel unstoppable. There was no doubt that he was now different. Nearing the Museum of Oddities, it was figured time to take a break. Mark’s will had not faltered, but his hunger now seemed to be his only Achilles heel. Throughout Mark’s training to gain his black belt, to maintain, a substantial increase in calories were needed just to maintain his bodies new internal functions and processes.

  For someone able to lift three to four times their own body weight—this insatiable curse—this unabated rumbling in his stomach was to be filled constantly, if only to not waste away. Outside his destination, a small piece of baked bread prepared was quickly consumed. Having ate, even a little, the pain began to go away, and the food continued to fuel his new found abilities. Now I’m thinking like one of them, with my stomach, Mark thought. Just as long as I don’t get any craving to eat someone I care about.

  Sticking to the shadows of the outer museum, an almost super powered jump was made, grabbing ahold of the small canopy overhanging the museum’s entrance. He then pulled himself up the rest of the way. Next to the window, loose shingles began to fall at his feet. Using brute strength only, the window was pried apart. The edge of the frame was quietly splintered as the lock broke. Caution was maintained entering into the museum. Mark knew better than to get mistaken as an intruder.