"When?" Keith asked.
"How’s about now?"
Keith looked at Steve and the women. A quick nod of approval was given by all. Keith nodded his head yes, and the four followed the three men.
The entourage took the same route as the day before and met Bronson giving orders to a small group.
Keith looked down the valley and was relieved to see the body of the man and the ‘dead’ zombies were no longer there.
Bronson greeted the couples with a broad smile. "Friends! Good to see you here this fine day."
"We’re glad to be here, and our thanks for your hospitality," Steve said, stepping in front of Keith.
"Good, good, glad to have you with us." Bronson turned down his welcoming voice. "Yesterday you wanted to leave. I admit, I did use my authority to force you to stay. I thought it would be for your own good. I was right. Wasn’t I?"
"Yes . . . yes you were," Steve said with the others nodding.
"Well then, you see there is a need for force sometimes, as long as it’s given out with fairness at the core. So now, I leave your future in your own hands. You’re welcome to stay and become part of our family, or leave and take your chances on your own."
"We’ve decide to stay. And while we’re here, we’ll follow the rules and your leadership," Steve said.
"You all agree?"
Each responded with an affirmation.
"Fine! Fine! Then it is settled. I welcome you as members of New Paradise." Bronson turned his attention back to Steve. "Now that you are part of the village, as I am now your leader, I will take your lovely wife for my own."
Steve’s facade of pride melted. "What do you mean?"
"Your wife, Jill, is to be mine now."
"Oh, no, we’re not going to play that game," Keith interjected. Jill and Kara froze.
"This doesn’t concern you." Bronson raised an open hand.
“Pete said that you don’t take women. He said you earn them. You can’t just take Jill.”
"When I became Chief, I earned any woman I want who belongs to this village. My word is law. The girl is mine."
"No, she’s mine. We’re leaving now," Steve said, his voice shaking.
"You won’t be leaving, and I accept your challenge," Bronson said.
"Challenge? What challenge? All I said was ‘we’re leaving now.’" Steve and the other three huddled together for protection. Several men standing by Bronson lowered their guns toward the two couples. A gun barrel shoved in Steve’s back pushed him toward Bronson. Bronson separated from his men and stepped forward.
"I give an order. You do not obey. That is a challenge. Defend yourself! If you want to make the laws you must defeat me." Bronson slammed two open palms into Steve’s chest, knocking him down on his backside. Bronson outweighed Steve by fifty pounds. "Stay down . . . if you know what’s good for you."
“Leave him alone, you bastard!” Keith yelled.
Steve searched for something nearby to use as a weapon to even the match and came up empty. He lifted himself off the ground, brushed the dirt from his hands, and slowly walked toward Bronson. "We don’t want any trouble. Please, just let us leave."
With that, Steve took a quick step and a half forward and delivered a roundhouse kick square to Bronson’s solar plexus, bending him over and heaving for air. Steve connected again with a jump kick to the left side of Bronson’s face.
Bronson spun around and landed on his hands and knees, spitting blood. Steve ran up and slammed his foot down on Bronson’s rear, forcing him down flat on his chest. He then hurried to Bronson’s side and began kicking his ribs.
Bronson made a quick turn, and caught Steve’s foot. He twisted it sideways, sending Steve crashing to the ground. Then the larger man fell on top of him so they were face-to-face and smashed his left forearm down on Steve’s throat.
"You son of a bitch. You are going to die."
“Leave him alone!” Jill cried.
Steve’s face turned deep purple. His eyelids started to flutter.
Bronson gritted his teeth as spittle, and blood dripped out of his mouth.
Steve jutted his head forward and bit down hard on Bronson’s left ear.
Bronson yelled like an animal, and pushed down harder on Steve’s throat, which only caused his ear to tear. His scream shot up an octave in pitch and several decibels in volume.
Bronson twisted himself off Steve and towered over him.
Steve could do nothing more than lie on the ground and gasp for air.
Half of Bronson’s ear remained attached by a thin bit of flesh. Blood dripped down to his chin. With an expression of madness, he placed his foot on Steve’s knee, and lifted Steve’s foot until the knee snapped.
Steve screamed, but his body didn’t have any fight left.
Bronson started taking his revenge with a barrage of kicks to Steve’s side.
Steve moaned weakly with each kick. His life force ebbed with each blow.
Kara buried her head in Keith’s shoulder. Jill had her face in her hands.
Keith knew that there was only time left for one last act of desperation.
The nearest man was distracted by the fray, and just two steps away. Keith lunged, snatched the shotgun from his hand, and then rolled forward, ending upright on one knee.
Bronson was just about to deliver the deathblow with a kick to the head when the gunshot rang out.
The buckshot hit Bronson near the heart and sent him reeling backward. The shock from the blast, and the shock of Bronson’s death, gave Keith just enough time to maneuver behind Pete.
"Nobody moves! I’ll kill him too!"
Before anyone could react, a horn sounded one long continuous blow of warning.
"Oh, my God," Pete said.
As if the two couples no longer existed, Bronson’s men ran toward the main village.
"What the hell’s going on?” Keith demanded.
"They’re comin’, and it’s a bunch of ‘em. Get the damned gun out my back!"
Jill ran over to Steve, who was lying unconscious with his eyes closed and swollen. She felt his neck for a pulse, and then checked for any sign of life. She glanced up, and saw that the horror had arrived.
Down in the valley, climbing up the ridge, were scores of the walking dead. Jill slapped Steve on the cheek and begged for him to wake up.
"Damn it, boy, the war is on. That was the immediate perimeter alarm. Let’s go!" Pete yelled.
"Why didn’t we get an advanced warning?" Keith asked.
"Hell, I don’t know. I guess the sentry got eaten first. Let’s move it!" Pete raced toward the village without Keith’s consent.
"Keith!" Kara screamed. Two members of the undead stumbled toward Steve and Jill. Keith started to shoot, but was afraid of hitting Jill. Kara yelled for her to run. She was still trying to get Steve up on his feet.
More of the undead had arrived by the time the two ghouls grabbed Jill in their wretched hands. Her death cries electrified the nape of Keith’s neck.
"Keith, save me! You said you would save me!" Kara cried.
"I will, I will, I promise! Let’s get back to the village!" Keith’s last memory of his friends was of a rotting zombie with its head buried in Jill’s neck, and another feeding out of Steve’s stomach.
The men took strategic positions around the perimeter, making sure each shot was sure. The women and children aided in reloading spare guns, exchanging them for the empties. Keith pushed his way to the firing line and unloaded his gun by taking down six of the walking dead. A fresh gun was shoved into his hands, and he took out five more.
Dead body after dead body fell to the ground. Shots rang without end. The dead kept coming, unending, and the mob grew thicker in number. Tens, hundreds, perhaps thousands were on the march. An ocean of savage carnivores loomed on the horizon. A virtual tsunami of rotting corpses prepared to invade.
Keith’s spirit sank to its lowest depth. The illusions of his newfound hope to defeat the undead vanished in the h
arshness of reality. He had fooled himself into believing that the living had a chance against the monsters.
The dead approached in overwhelming odds and pushed the living to give up ground.
"Keith! Save me!" Kara pleaded.
"Let’s get back to the cabin." Keith grabbed her arm and ran along with others in retreat. The dead started pouring into the village. There would be no escaping without some kind of miracle.
Keith and Kara burst into the cabin and quickly locked the door. Keith loaded his gun, and Kara loaded hers. The sole window in the front was boarded shut, but a crack or two allowed a small view of the carnage overtaking the village.
A wave of walking dead snatched up a woman who tripped and fell to the ground. Her screams only lasted a few seconds, unlike one man, whose arms and legs provided a feast for the ravenous monsters.
Small children separated from their parents stood by crying until whisked away by putrid hands and skeletal fingers.
"You’ve got to save me, Keith. You promised," Kara pleaded softly.
"Our best chance . . . our only chance, is to wait and see if they move on. Maybe they’ll eat their fill and leave," Keith whispered.
Kara stood close, and sobbed. "Please . . . please, Keith . . . please . . . save me."
The shooting outside had stopped long before the last cries of the living went silent. Keith peered out of the window crack and saw the streets thick with the living dead. The ferocity of the zombies was greater than he imagined possible.
Knocks on the cabin walls made him feel that the circle of death was tightening. The door handle moved slightly making a mechanical clicking noise. Kara flinched as fists banged on the door.
The two remained silent, practically holding their breath as they prayed for a miracle. The door handle moved again. A louder bang against the door caused it to buckle slightly, bent by the weight of the hungry ghouls.
Keith leaned his back against the door. Wood twisted and the hinges made a metallic groan. The mass of undead flesh pushed harder. Keith grabbed the table and shoved it between the door and the wall. The moaning from the monsters increased. “They can probably smell us in here.”
The bolt broke away from the keeper, and the door slammed halfway open against the table.
Keith fired his gun, dropping the first rotting face that poked in, and every one that followed after. Kara handed him her gun and began reloading his.
The undead attempted to climb over the first few layers that had fallen to buckshot. Keith blasted every zombie fighting to enter, until the bodies stacked up in the doorway. Body on top of body now blocked the entry. He held his fire.
He could still hear them outside meandering about, but they were no longer trying to enter.
Was it over? Did he stumble upon that miracle he was praying for? Did a wall of dead zombies somehow mask him and Kara from whatever senses the living dead possessed?
The seconds passed, seeming like hours. Movement outside continued. The dead body on top of the pile suddenly disappeared from behind. Sunlight shone through and fell on Kara’s tearful eyes.
The next on top followed, and the next, until Keith put the first meatless face to show itself in his open sights and blasted it into fragments. The body dropped, then another, and another, blocking the door again. The hopeless game continued with the zombies in endless pursuit of the last two survivors.
Kara looked again through the window crack. There seemed no fewer of the undead in number than when it started.
"Keith, you promised you would save me . . . ."
"I will honey. I will. When it’s time."
"Do it now."
He looked over to her to protest, and saw she held an empty box of shells.
Kara looked at him with her big brown eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks. "Save me, Keith. Save me now."
With only three shells remaining, he knew the time had finally arrived.
"Please . . . if you really love me . . . ." Kara pulled the gun barrel toward her head. The skin on her fingers seared into the hot metal.
The bodies began clearing the doorway for the final assault.
"I do love you, Kara." Keith pulled the trigger. Kara’s beautiful face exploded onto the cabin walls. "I did it . . . I kept my promise . . . I saved you."
Keith turned back to the door. The head of another creature of darkness came into view. He pulled the trigger and blasted it backward.
He was down to his last shell.
With one last goodbye to his beloved Kara, Keith saved himself.
The End
Resurrection X: Zombie Evolution by Dane Hatchell
Published by Post Mortem Press
Chapters 1-4
Resurrection X: Zombie Evolution
Prologue
Modern times: Dallas, Texas, the year 2020
"If I had known that you were going to be this distracted, I would have cooked dinner for you at home," Hoyt Anders told his wife, Reba, as the couple sat at Cafe D'Esprit while browsing the drink menu. "This was supposed to be a special night for us, our tenth anniversary and all."
"Look at those two over there," Reba said, nodding her head to the left. "Disgusting, if you ask me."
Hoyt casually twisted his head toward the couple. "Those two aren't bothering anyone. They're just enjoying a meal, no different than you and me."
"Their kind shouldn’t be allowed in here. I can smell that rotting cabbage they’re eating way over here." Reba winced in repulsion. "They're trouble makers—nothing but equal right activists trying to stir up trouble. Some left wing organization put them up to this. You know most of them can’t even think for themselves."
In a dark corner near the kitchen door, at a small table with barely enough space to accommodate chairs, sat two members of the Non-Dead. Each wore the standard City Maintenance attire of dark blue, long-sleeved jumpsuit, and Department of Sanitation cap. The shadows hid the level of decay of their leathery faces.
"I'm sure it makes them feel more," Hoyt paused to choose the correct word, "human. Besides, it's the law, and the restaurant can't afford to have the Feds suing them over discrimination."
Reba dropped the drink menu and put her hands on the table. "But the Non-Dead don't even need to eat solid food like we do. The alien virus infesting their body feeds off that skin cream they grease up with." Reba shuddered at the thought of becoming infected.
"That’s true, but the sauerkraut they’re eating helps to preserve the internal organs. It adds months, if not years, to the amount of time they remain useful for service," Hoyt said.
"Yada, yada, yada." Reba closed her eyes in dismissal. "They’re nothing but zombie trash."
Hoyt grimaced. "Not so loud with the Z-word, the waitress will hear you."
Reba glanced to the right at the sound of clanking dishes.
"You’re worried about the waitress over there? From the looks of her, she’s getting close to the end of her usefulness. She’d be better off concentrating on her job and ignoring what the Living are saying about her."
"Speaking of a waitress," Hoyt poked his head up and searched around the room, "where's ours? I need a drink."
"She's probably in the bathroom, putting her face on. Get it? Literally putting her face on—because it fell off!" Reba giggled with a mixture of snorts at her attempt at a joke.
Hoyt took a deep breath and let out a huff of bad air. "I got it. Honey, you have to face the fact that the Non-Dead are here to stay."
Reba's lips tightened into an O, reminding Hoyt of a body orifice located in the nether region.
Picking up the drink menu, Hoyt said, "You'll loosen up a bit once we have a drink or two. What will it be? White wine? How about some champagne? I'm pulling out all the stops tonight."
"You don't like my humor because you don't get it."
"Please, can we just move on? I don't think jokes like that are appropriate. Not in this day and age, and certainly not in a public place. Would you prefer a cocktail from the specialty m
enu? How about an Appletini or a Cosmopolitan?"
Reba frowned and crossed her arms. "Is there an erection resurrection cocktail? If there is, you need to order two."
The woman at a table near them let out a shriek. All heads turned in her direction. The warm hum of conversation ended abruptly as she stood, tossed her napkin to the floor, and commanded the waitress to bring the manager to the table.
"What the hell is going on over there?" Hoyt said, hoping to avoid the fight that Reba was trying to pick.
"Her soup was probably cold or something. I've been watching her ever since we sat down. She frowns at everything her date says to her. She even sent back the first bottle of wine, turning her nose up after taking a sip. I know those types of people, never happy, always finding a reason to complain, and I can't stand them. You know the kind of people I'm talking about?"
Hoyt hesitated. "Yes, I know too well," and drank quickly from his glass of water before he incriminated himself.
The restaurant manager walked briskly behind Reba, approaching the upset customer.
"My good ma'am, I am so sorry that there was a slight problem with the soup. Café D'Esprit prides itself in its five star rating. We’ve earned that rating due to the quality of our food and our service. I assure you, that rating could not have been achieved without the highest level of cleanliness in our kitchen. I apologize greatly for the fly that you have found in your soup. The vile creature must have flown in from outside as our distinguished patrons enter and leave."
The woman shook her head slowly, unresponsive to his apology.
He stood with raised eyebrows and opened palms turned upside down in front of his chest, offering a gentle smile anticipating her reprieve.
Placing her hands firmly on her hips, she leaned toward him. "It wasn’t a fly that I found in my soup. It was an eye I found in my soup!"
Two tables over, a large man dressed in a tuxedo brought his napkin quickly to his mouth as he started to gag. Unable to control himself, he dry heaved until his face turned a deep shade of red.
Love Prevails: A Zombie Nightmare Page 3