A Fistful of Zombies: 12 Zombie Tales

by Dane Hatchell

  The drummers pounded a rare beat to open a window to the gods’ ears. The pulsating rhythm pleading, begging, demanding an answer to the prayers of the faithful.

  Barlak raised his hand to still the drums. Lightning crashed in the distance, filling the silence.

  Lowering his hand, the drums resumed, and before the second beat, the lightning struck the shrine of Kilomba.

  Ethereal spirits poured down the tower and pooled around dead giant. Jagged sprites and fairies of electrical energy joined hands and danced upon the body of the giant ape.

  The clouds continued to roll overhead, but one drop of rain never touched the ground. The hairs of the mourners stood on end, tickling the skin at the root.

  Barlak’s eyes widened, his heart pounded at the sight of the fantastic event. Standing with the aid of the warriors, he lifted his hands and spoke the final chant.

  Waves of energy flowed through Kilomba’s body glowing like burning embers. Barlak couldn’t tell if the body was actually starting to twitch or if the flow of energy made it look so.

  Then, there was no mistaking. Kilomba’s whole body began to quiver in rhythm with the otherworldly force—shaking him like a string puppet with a frenzied master.

  A high-pitched whine filled the air and grew in intensity. An arm of electricity reached out of Kilomba, flowed up into the towering shrine, and left the body of the fallen God. The top of the tower erupted in a celestial shower of sparks that the heavens absorbed, leaving eerie quite behind.

  The clouds evaporated, unveiling the light of the moon and the smiles of the stars.

  Kilomba’s eyes opened.

  Cries of surprise and thanks went out from the faithful. The Gods in heaven had heard them. Many fell to their knees in reverence. A few backed away in fear.

  Barlak hobbled toward the giant. “Praise be to Bumba and Shango. Kilomba has returned from his visit in the heavens. He has come back to protect his children. He has come back to preserve our way of life. It is assured the hunt will be plentiful. The fields will bloom and produce a wealth of fruit to feed our children.”

  Kilomba sat upright, releasing putrid gas trapped in his bowels. Two of his worshipers wretched and vomited. He looked at the crowd of tribe’s people with lifeless eyes and opened and closed his mouth, as if learning movement for the first time.

  Cold fear crawled up Barlak’s spine and rested in the back of his head.

  Kilomba brought his fist to his side and put his knuckles into the ground. Slowly, he pushed himself up, placed his legs underneath, and stood. The giant ape wobbled, shifting his body to stay upright.

  More of the villagers backed away. Barlak remained with hands uplifted, praying for a merciful outcome.

  Kilomba leaned his head back, spread his arms, and let out a horrific cry. The sound echoed in the still night air. He put his knuckles to the ground, took an unsure step forward, hesitated, and then continued.

  Barlak backed away as the brooding figure lumbered toward him. He was unsure of what move to make next. He had expected Kilomba to return into the jungle and rest in his mountain abode. Something was still wrong with Kilomba. He walked as if he were asleep. His movements were stiff, and the rotting parts of his body started to tear.

  The walking dead God reached out to grab Barlak. He easily stepped out of the way, as the giant hand missed him by several feet. Kilomba tried again with the other hand and missed as before.

  Kilomba let out another loud cry, turning everyone on their heels, and fleeing toward the village.

  *

  Jarobi, Nakima’s grandfather, leaned against the outside of his hut with his left hand, while directing his urine stream with his right. Aging had him waking frequently in the night to relieve himself. An enlarged prostate reduced his once powerful stream into a trickle. Still feeling half-asleep, he raised his one open eye to the direction of his brothers’ screams as they fled back to the village.

  “Wake up! Kilomba lives and is angry. Wake up!” the first to break the village perimeter yelled.

  Jarobi shook his leaking member dry and returned to the hut. “Wake up, little Nakima. There is something wrong. We must leave.”

  Nakima was a deep sleeper and did not respond.

  More commotion filled the village as those awoke in surprise and the others fleeing Kilomba returned.

  “You must wake up now. Danger is coming.” Jarobi leaned on his cane as he shook little Nakima.

  Kilomba howled, engulfing the Village in pandemonium. Brush and small trees crunched as his knuckles and feet hit the earth.

  “You must wake now, Nakima!” Jarobi pleaded.

  Nakima’s eyes opened and stared into the distance. He yawned and struggled to awake.

  Kilomba cried again. This time sounding like he was just outside the hut.

  Jarobi helped his grandson to his feet and pushed him out the door. Not twenty feet away stood the lofty figure of the Ape-God, silhouetted against the moonlit night.

  “Run, Nakima! Run!” Jarobi yelled.

  Nakima looked about confused, and then did as his grandfather instructed. Kilomba made another step toward them.

  Jarobi pushed off his cane as fast as he could. As the distance between he and Nakima grew farther, the distance between he and Kilomba closed.

  Jarobi fell to the ground as Kilomba’s sweeping hand caught him across his ankle. He was on his back looking up at the husk of what his loving God had once been. It was a cruel joke of the Devil no doubt that had drained the life of their vibrant deity, replacing him with the soul of an imposter. This false god had broken the covenant protecting the village.

  The hand of Kilomba wrapped around Jarobi’s body and lifted him into the air. Nakima stopped and turned when he realized his grandfather was no longer right behind him.

  Kilomba shoved Jarobi’s head in his mouth, tore it from the body, and chewed greedily. His eyes looked vacant as bones crunched and blood spilled from his lips.

  Nakima watched in shock as the God he had worshipped all his life ate his grandfather. He was aware of the annual sacrifice, but never really understood the real implications of the ritual. Kilomba gobbled down the rest of the body. Nothing was left of Jarobi but his cane and the blood stained ground of his home.

  The massive ape turned and headed toward the thick of the jungle.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming on this stupid trip,” Mary said, after swatting a biting fly on the back of her neck. “You need to get me to shore. This up-and-down on this old bucket makes me want to puke.”

  Professor David Brigtsen, famed National Geographic explorer and her husband, ignored Mary as he compared the shoreline to the photographs in his hand.

  “How are you going to make this up to me when you find out it’s a bust? David. I’m talking to you.”

  Professor Brigtsen held a photograph toward the shore. “Yes. You are talking to me. I’m standing next to you. I couldn’t escape the sound of your voice if I wanted to.”

  Mary frowned, crossing her arms across her short, fat frame. “Why couldn’t you be content with teaching? We’re too old for this crap. But no, you have to be off halfway across the world chasing the African Bigfoot. You’re only going to be remembered as an old fool who was tricked by a prankster. Ever hear of Photoshop? That big monkey in those satellite photos was created by a ten year old on a computer.”

  Professor Brigtsen pushed his gray hair under his twill safari hat. “It was standing right over there. By that tree to the left of that large rock. My stars, it must be twenty-five to thirty-feet tall.”

  “David! Get your head out of your ass and answer me,” Mary said, her arms by her side, and her hands balled in fists.

  A thin Chinese girl with long legs glistening with a combination of insect repellent and sun block stepped up behind Professor Brigtsen. She wore khaki shorts cuffed at mid-thigh, an olive colored shirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, and the shirt-tails tied in a knot at her w
aist. “Professor Brigtsen. Captain Roscoe radioed the team has made contact and will be back to pick us up shortly. He sounded really excited.”

  Professor Brigtsen spun around at the sound of her voice. “Why, thank you so much, Changchang.” He smiled and gave her a wink, feeling Mary’s stare burn a hole in his back. “Tell the others to ready the equipment. We shall move as soon as the boats return. We don’t want to delay.”

  Changchang smiled back and nodded, her almond shaped eyes nearly closing, and turned to carry out her professor’s instructions.

  Professor Brigtsen looked back at Mary. Her mouth was drawn in so tight all he could think of was a sphincter muscle.

  “You just had to bring your little Geisha,” Mary said.

  “Geishas are Japanese. Changchang is Chinese,” the Professor said.

  “Whatever. Changchang Chow. What a stupid name.”

  “Her name is actually Chow Changchang. In China, the surname is written first.”

  “Whatever. Her face is mashed like a Chow or a Pekingese dog.”

  “Mary! How dare you act in such a way about my best student! I do believe this voyage has taken a toll to your basic reasoning. Get a hold of yourself, woman. Don’t embarrass yourself any further. And for God’s sake don’t embarrass me. This expedition may very well be my last. It may also prove to be my greatest claim of discovery. My professionalism needs never to be in question. National Geographic has given me the opportunity because of my reputation. The Chinese government is funding half of this expedition because Changchang is my student and because her father is well connected in the government. Please don’t do or say anything that might jeopardize the success of my mission,” the Professor said.

  Mary stewed awhile, looking at her husband through narrow eyes. Her upper lip quivered, showing glimpses of her front teeth.

  “Make use of yourself and go and pack. We shall be leaving shortly, and I want you to be at my side in this historic moment.”

  The scowl on Mary’s face softened. “Why is so important to you to have me with you?”

  The Professor walked up to Mary and took her hand. “My dear, we have been together for over thirty years. This will prove to be my finest moment in history. I cannot think of a better way to honor our marriage than by sharing the success with you. The world shall remember David and Mary Brigtsen together as they present the Eighth Wonder of the World.”

  “You are a fool,” Mary said softly. “But you are a charmer.” She leaned over and hugged him tightly.

  The Professor returned the hug and kissed her on top of her head. He looked toward the shore as the dinghies sped back toward the ship. His future was now in his hands. He could not afford to make the slightest of mistakes. Not only for him, but for Changchang also.

  * * *

  Barlak greeted the male strangers with the custom of handshakes while smiling and making eye contact, the same with the two women, adding a kiss on the cheek.

  Professor Brigtsen listened to Barlak’s fantastic tale of the Ape-God that shared the island. He was familiar with the tribe’s dialect and followed the story up until lightning struck and killed Kilomba. Then had Barlak retell and explain the part where Kilomba returned from the dead.

  “So you are saying that your God died, and then you brought him back to life. But that he is not alive as he once was. That he is now a nzambi, and seeks a daily human sacrifice instead of his annual? Do I understand you correctly?” the Professor said.

  “Yes. Once each day we leave him an offering by the sacred ground near his cave. If we do not, he returns to the village and creates havoc until capturing one for his meal. Many people die. Much destruction is done. It is better to offer sacrifice. Only one die,” Barlak said.

  Professor Brigtsen noticed the disproportionate ratio of women to men, having counted less than fifty males on arrival.

  “Is that what happened to all of your men?” he asked.

  “In the beginning, we tried to return Kilomba to the grave. Many brave warriors died in the attempt. Our men sacrifice themselves for the women and children.”

  “You will have no men left in a couple of months. What will your women and children do then?”

  Barlak looked to the ground and shook his head. “I do not know. We have no boats to leave island. There is no place we can hide. We can only fight and become victorious, or we will die. Will you help us fight, Brigtsen?”

  The Professor’s entourage of twenty came well equipped for the mission. More than half carried rifles, some fully automatic. The expedition also brought with it explosives meant to tame the rugged terrain of the jungle. Along with tranquillizer darts and specialty grenades designed to confuse an adversary without lethal consequences.

  “We will assist you any way that we can. I ask only that I be allowed to take photographs of the encounter and for the remains of Kilomba once he is defeated,” the Professor said.

  Barlak hesitated, finding it difficult to believe that he was negotiating the destruction of his God. His spirit was worn down to the point that he no longer cared if he lived or died. He knew though that he had to hang on until his village was safe, or in the end, die trying.

  “I agree to your terms. The thing that lives in the cave is not our God. It is not Kilomba. It is an imitation created by the Devil. Better to be rid of it, and purge it from our memories,” Barlak said, sealing the commitment with a handshake.

  *

  Changchang raised the tripod slightly and tilted the camera forward. The LCD screen on the back framed the mouth of the cave and she pressed the control to zoom in on the view.

  “I have the camera ready, Professor,” Changchang said.

  “I’ve just finished setting up the video. The camera is rolling,” the Professor said. “The perspective from this ridge is perfect.” He stood with his arms up in the air as he looked down below.

  A series of hills bordered the eastern side of the cave of Kilomba. Professor Brigtsen, Mary, and Changchang were in position to capture images of the beast as it emerged from its lair. The cave faced a large, mostly clear area. Dense jungle began some fifty-yards away. A perfect place for Roscoe and his men to hide and wait.

  “Excuse me you two, am I getting in your way?” Mary said, hands on hips and binoculars dangling from her neck.

  “Not at all, Mary. Carry on,” Professor Brigtsen said, testing the pan of the camera.

  “I was being sarcastic,” Mary said. “I’m being ignored. Why did you want me to come again? To be your pack mule? You could have used one of the natives to help haul the equipment.”

  “The natives consider this sacred ground and will not venture this far,” the Professor said.

  “Whatever. You bring me up here to do what? Watch you and Chingaling scurry about like ants while I stand back here looking at your rear ends.”

  “Mary! Her name is Changchang, and please stop with your incessant whining. Changchang, please excuse my wife,” the Professor turned his head and stared at Mary. “Her hormones are obviously imbalanced and she should seek medical attention as soon as we get stateside.”

  Changchang wiped the sweat from her forehead. “It’s okay.”

  “Come in, Professor,” Roscoe’s voice sounded tinny as it blasted over the radio speaker.

  Professor Brigtsen unclipped the radio from his belt and lowered the volume before speaking. “Brigtsen, here. Is the mission a go?”

  “Set your watch for ten minutes. We’ll send in some bait, let you get a few pictures, and then we’ll try to bring him down in one piece.”

  “Use plan B only as a last resort.”

  “I know, Professor. Don’t worry. My men have been informed. Roscoe out.”

  Professor Brigtsen turned to Changchang and smiled, then reached for her hand and squeezed it for reassurance. Changchang smiled back and pulled him into her for a hug.

  Mary suddenly felt alone, as if she were intruding in their special moment.

  Something below caught Mary’s eye. “D
avid? Oh, my. David, when you find the time to pull yourself off her, look.”

  Professor Brigtsen and Changchang turned to Mary, and then where she pointed. A saber-toothed tiger trotted through low foliage toward the cave of Kilomba.

  “I don’t believe it! Changchang, get video while I snap some pictures,” the Professor said as he headed for the equipment. “That cat has been extinct for over ten-thousand years. Look at it!”

  He lowered the camera and focused in on the saber-tooth, taking shots as fast as he could before it escaped from view.

  “It looks as if it’s over ten feet long. I imagine it tips the scale at over four-hundred pounds.”

  Mary watched through her binoculars as the cat slinked its way across the valley. This truly was a historical moment. For the first time she was happy that she had made the trip.

  As the saber-tooth neared the entrance of the cave, it dropped to a crouching position, fur stood on the end along its spine.

  Kilomba exited from the cave knuckles first, turning its lifeless eyes toward the savage beast.

  “Oh, my God,” the Professor said, looking away from the camera, mesmerized by the sight of Kilomba.

  Changchang quickly turned her video camera toward the ape.

  Mary let out a cry of surprise and dropped her binoculars.

  Kilomba looked like a hairy, withered, bag of bones. His lips peeled away from his teeth in a ghastly display of his foot long canines. Some of his fur split away from his skin, exposing rotting flesh. Maggots infesting a wound poured down his leg.

  The saber-tooth twitched his tail four times and sprang upon the huge ape.

  In four quick leaps the saber-tooth had an arm of Kilomba in its jaws. It jerked its head about, trying to throw him to the ground.

  Kilomba hissed, grabbed on the tiger with his free hand, and tossed it to the side.

  The saber-tooth tumbled through the air with a large flap of fur and skin held tightly in its teeth. It hit the ground on all fours, and ran off into the dense cover of the jungle.