With his whispering voice echoing off the stark walls, Billy Jack climbed the stairs as fast as he could, slipping occasionally because the blood dripping from his clothes and onto the worn-smooth stairs made them slicker than normal.
As he reached the fourth floor landing, he heard a low moan echo around him. He froze, not knowing what to do, but knowing someone else was in the stairwell with him. He felt along the wall for the door and looked through the gloom created by the wane moonlight seeping in through the small, dirty, barred windows high in the walls. His hand reached the handle as he heard a louder moan, the thumping noise of something falling down stairs, and a deep groan; it sounded closer. He raised his eyes to the fifth floor landing as his hand gripped the door handle tighter; something was moving around up there, groaning. He figured it had to be another of the biting people.
The form slowly stood and limped to the edge of the landing, looking down at Billy Jack. It groaned loudly and tried to walk forward, falling down the stairs right at him.
Billy Jack screamed, yanked the door open and darted onto the fourth floor of the building. Making sure the door was shut tight behind him, he spun and darted, not paying attention to anything around him. He slammed into a woman and pinned her against the wall with all of his weight.
She gasped and then purred, “Hold on, sugar, and I’ll give you anything you want.” Her hand– which was caught between them– cupped his crotch.
Billy Jack cried out and backed away. “Why d . . . d . . . did you touch me th . . . th . . . there?” he whimpered, holding his hands over his penis like he had to pee.
The woman laughed and advanced toward him, looking him over. “You pay me enough I’ll give you what you really want.” She traced the B and J on his chest with her finger. “You like B-js, don’t you?” she teased and then frowned. “Why are you all wet?”
Holding her hand up at an angle to the faint hallway light, she saw that her hand was covered with blood. She looked down and notice her body was also, from where his had touched hers when he’d pinned her to the wall.
“Blood!” she screamed and darted for the stairwell door.
Billy Jack yelled, “No!” and tried to stop her from opening the door, but it was too late.
“Holy shit, a zombie!” she yelped and turned back to Billy Jack who was standing, panting, in the hall.
He glimpsed the stark fear in her eyes as the man she’d identified as a zombie fell on her from behind, pinning her to the floor. She screamed and kicked, but it was too late; the monster’s teeth sank into her flesh and she began to bleed.
Billy Jack was scared, still standing in the hall, cupping his privates in shock over what had happened so quickly. He knew he needed to get back out into the stairwell to keep climbing and save Mike. To reach the stairs he would have to go through the zombie attacking the strange, almost naked, woman who liked to touch people in their no-no-special places.
Tugging at the front of his union suit, he decided he would have to stop the zombie from hurting the woman or else he wouldn’t be a real superhero. They saved everyone.
With a roar, he charged forward, getting the zombie’s attention; it lifted its head at the noise. Hopping slightly, he planted one foot hard on the floor and kicked with the other like he’d seen football players do on TV when they were kicking a field goal. His kicking foot connected with the zombie’s chin, snapping its head back and almost off as its rotting flesh tore.
The woman was still alive and sobbing uncontrollably, so Billy Jack dragged the zombie off of the woman and helped her up. She was weak and wobbled back and forth.
“You n . . . n . . . need to rest, m . . . m . . . ma’am,” he said, leaning her up against the wall; she slid down, sitting hard on her butt when he let her go. “I h . . . h . . . have to save Mike.”
Billy Jack opened the door to the stairwell a little further – the zombie’s legs were holding it open slightly – and disappeared into the oppressive gloom once again. He was now scared that there would be more of the zombie creatures on the stairs somewhere waiting to get him, so he ran up the five flights of stairs to the ninth floor. Ripping open the door, he carefully stepped into the hallway and looked around before closing the door behind himself.
The hall was silent; there was no sound of anyone anywhere, not even noise from TVs in the apartments. The moon cast shadows along the corridor and made Billy Jack more and more nervous. He tugged at the front of his union suit, accidentally popping off a button, but he didn’t notice. He was focused on the scary world around him, gulping and whimpering in succession. The idea of being a superhero had been fun when the world was safe and he was only dealing with his imagination, but it was more difficult than he’d anticipated, and more scary. He finally reached apartment 947 and what he found didn’t improve his spirits.
A smeared, bloody hand print was bright on the wide-open door. From within the apartment he heard growling and the wet sound of something eating, along with soft whimpers. Tentatively he stepped over the threshold and beheld a gruesome sight on the kitchen floor.
Mike’s bare feet were twitching and bouncing off the floor as his mother and some man Billy Jack didn’t know – both naked – ate his small body. The whimpers were Mike’s and Billy Jack realized he was still alive. Rage and grief surged through him and he screamed at the zombies.
“S . . . s . . . stop hurting my f . . . f . . . friend!”
He stormed into the room and grabbed the man, wrapping his hands around his neck, squeezing with all his strength. The man hadn’t been a zombie long, so he wasn’t rotting, but when Billy Jack gave him a quick jerk in his fury, his spine snapped just below his skull and he went still. Throwing the limp body off to the side, Billy Jack kicked Mike’s mom in the head; she’d been too interested in eating her son to pay attention to what was going on around her. He picked her up by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall screaming at her for being a bad mother, until her skull cracked and a wet slapping sound rang through the kitchen each time she hit the wall. With tears running down his cheeks, Billy Jack let her fall to the floor as well, and turned to kneel down beside Mike.
His little body was quivering as he took each breath. Blood was oozing from his body and soaking into the scraps of what used to be his clothes. “Billy Jack,” he whispered, “thank you for saving me.”
Billy Jack was too choked up with tears to respond and slid his arm under his small friend’s head, hugging him close, rocking gently.
After a couple more shaky intakes of air Mike stopped breathing altogether. Billy Jack continued to rock him, wailing, mourning his friend more than he’d mourned his father; they’d been closer and had a real bond.
He was too caught up in his grief to notice that all the noise he was making had attracted more zombies. Three of them came shambling through the door and were clawing at him before he knew what was going on. In his grief he batted their clawing hands away, but only half-heartedly. With Mike gone he didn’t care what happened to him, but he snapped back to reality when the small body moved in his arms, moaning insistently. Sudden sharp pains from his neck, chest, and arm caused him to cry out and stand. He jumped back and dropped Mike on the blood-soaked floor; his once angelic face was twisted in blood lust.
“Mike?” Billy Jack stammered, barely noticing that the small boy had bitten him, as had two others of the undead ranks. “A . . . a . . . are you okay?”
Mike hissed and tried to stand, but the damage to his body had been too extensive; the middle of his body was gone, all the way to his spinal cord. With a harsh grunt, the zombie boy flipped himself over onto his front and flopped like a fish toward Billy Jack, licking what little blood he’d drawn from his tiny lips.
“N . . . n . . . no!” Billy Jack sobbed, backing away.
One of the other zombies had finally had enough of everything and lunged at Billy Jack. He jumped and dodged the sudden movement, only to slip in the huge puddle of blood on the floor and fall hard. All three of
the adult zombies piled onto him, tearing skin and muscle with their teeth and devouring sweet, hot flesh, but Billy Jack didn’t even cry out. His eyes were locked with the now cloudy eyes of Mike as he flopped closer and closer. He was crying and was slipping into shock, seeing his once best friend turn into a blood thirst creature was just too much.
By the time Mike finally reached Billy Jack he was weak from loss of blood, but the zombie didn’t care because it worked to his advantage. He growl/purred down at his meal like the man was a steak and not a friend.
“I’m s . . . s . . . sorry, Mike,” Billy Jack whispered. “I’m s . . . s . . . sorry I didn’t m . . . m . . . make it here in t . . . t . . . time. I’m sorry I c . . . c . . . couldn’t be your s . . . s . . . superhero. I g . . . g . . . guess I’m a w . . . w . . . worthless nothing l . . . l . . . like my dad s . . . s . . . said . . .”
Mike’s mouth closed around Billy Jack’s throat, cutting off his air. Pulling back he tore off a small chunk of flesh, but his small teeth had done the job. They’d found an artery and soon Billy Jack wasn’t suffering any longer. The zombies drank their fill of his blood, until he too rose again to feast on the living.
About the story from Rebecca Besser:
“The Heart of Heroism first appeared in the Superheroes VS Zombies anthology in 2011, from Living Dead Press. The theme of the anthology is clearly reflected in the title. Since I’m not super into superheroes, I thought a story with an everyday no one who dreamt of being a superhero might be a good idea for a story. It’s that what heroes really are anyway? Regular people who care enough to go above and beyond for others?
I also wondered how someone who was mentally slow would handle such a change in their environment as the zombie apocalypse.
I actually wrote two stories based on the main character’s profile. I wrote an urban version, which you just read, and a rural version, which you’ll find next. So, yes, expect there to be similarities in name, speech pattern (the stuttering), etc. But, also expect there to be completely different situations and relationships because of the environments being at odds.”
HEROIC DREAMS
By Rebecca Besser
“Hurry up, Billy John!” Mrs. Farth called out the open window of the car. “You have to be at work soon and you don’t want to be late!”
Billy John came stumbling out the front door of the house, awkwardly trying to hook one of the fastenings of his bib overalls. “Coming, Mama!” he yelled.
“Close the door behind you,” she scolded gently and started the car.
“Oh, sorry,” he muttered and turned, wrapping his slightly, permanently, curved fingers around the knob, pulling it closed. “It’s shut n . . . n . . . now, Mama!”
With an uneven gait, Billy John made his way around the car and got in beside his mother. She waited patiently while he buckled his seat belt.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded. “Do you th . . . th . . . think Grace will be there?”
“If we make it in time, we should be there before she leaves,” his mother answered with a smile.
Billy John’s seven foot, two hundred and fifty-pound bulk barely fit inside the small car, but he didn’t even notice. He stared out the windows like an excited child on the way to his first carnival. Every once in a while he absently rubbed the front of his bib overalls where the denim material stretched across his chest.
Mrs. Farth noticed this movement and frowned. “Are you okay, Billy John? Why are you rubbing your chest?”
Billy John looked down at this lap like he felt guilty about something. “I’m okay, Mama.”
As he spoke, she looked over and noticed the end of a slim book poking out of the side of his bibs.
“Did you bring your new comic book with you?” she asked with a sigh. “I thought we agreed you’d keep them at home where they would stay nice and safe.”
“Yes, Mama,” he said, looking even more guilty.
“Then why did you bring it with you?”
He looked up, his face now glowing with excitement. “I w . . . w . . . wanted to show it to Grace! She’s gonna be my s . . . s . . . sidekick, when I become a superhero! We’re gonna save the world from e . . . e . . . evil!”
Mrs. Farth couldn’t help but smile because of her son’s simply joy and his dreams of saving the world. He had a big heart and she loved that about him; everyone loved that about him.
“You’ll make a wonderful superhero, dear,” she said, and patted him on the leg.
He beamed from ear to ear and pulled his newest comic book out to look at; he turned it slightly so his mother could see the cover. “I’m gonna b . . . b . . . be like him.” He pointed to the man in a tight outfit and mask with a cape billowing in the breeze behind him, before he flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “And Grace c . . . c . . . can be her!” He pointed at a petite blonde girl with braids wearing a costume similar to the on the man on the front was wearing, but was multiple shades of pink.
“Grace has brown hair,” Mrs. Farth said absently, and wished she’d thought before speaking after seeing Billy John’s face fall into a stricken expression.
“Oh, no!” he moaned. “But I want h . . . h . . . her to be my sidekick.” Frantically he flipped through the pages, almost tearing them in his haste. “I have to f . . . f . . . find her!”
His mother reached over and placed her hand on his much larger ones, halting his search. “The one you picked is fine, dear. Grace looks lovely in pink.”
“D . . . d . . . do you think she’ll mind n . . . n . . . not having yellow hair?” he asked, still upset and needing reassurance.
She patted his hand and smiled broadly. “I think she’ll like having the hair she has. It won’t matter to her, because she’ll get to be your sidekick.”
“Yeah!” he almost screamed, excited once again. He looked at the scenery out the window. “We’re almost there.” He bounced excitedly in his seat and Mrs. Farth had a hard time keeping the car on the road as it rocked and bounced under his weight.
She laughed. “Yes, we are. Calm down before you make me crash.”
“Sorry, Mama,” he said and quieted down, but still had a grin on his face.
Soon they arrived at the McCoy farm and Mrs. Farth pulled up in front of the white, two-story farmhouse. As she turned the key and shut off the engine, the front door of the house flew open and a six-year-old girl with brunette hair in pigtails and a missing front tooth came flying out.
“Billy John!” she squealed, hopping down the porch steps.
He struggled to get out of the tight confines of the car, but had just made it when she reached him and flung herself at him. He scooped her up and spun her around, before plopping down on his butt in the hard-packed dirt of the driveway/barnyard area. They both laughed and hugged each other.
“I have a s . . . s . . . surprise for you,” Billy John said, and Grace unwrapped her arms from around his neck.
“What is it?” the young girl asked eagerly.
Billy John proudly showed her the comic book he was still clutching in his hand; it was wrinkled and bent from the excited greeting. “That’s gonna be m . . . m . . . me,” he said, and pointed at the cover. Then he flipped through the book to the page with the character he’d selected for her. “Th . . . th . . . this is gonna be you!”
“Wow!” she said with wide, trusting, excited eyes. “She’s so pretty. I love her outfit. I wanna be your sidekick! When are you gonna be a superhero?”
Billy John smiled delightedly at her words, until she asked the question. His mouth drooped into a frown as he thought for a moment. Searching for an answer, he bit his bottom lip and squinted into the distance. “I suppose w . . . w . . . when evil strikes and I have to be super,” he said matter-of-factly, shrugging.
Grace giggled and laid her head on his shoulder, admiring the comic book with the picture of a girl she would love to be. “Sounds good to me,” she said. “Can we save the world and stuff?”
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“Yes! Of c . . . c . . . course,” he replied, holding the book open for her while she fondled the pages. “That’s what superheroes do, after all.”
Mrs. Farth walked to the house while the best friends greeted each other, to make sure Tom knew that Billy John had arrived. As she was walking back to her car, she smiled at the two of them sitting in the dirt.
“I told Tom you were here,” she told Billy John. “He said he’d be out in a moment. And I’m supposed to tell you, young lady,” she said, transferring her attention to Grace, “not to get dirty because you have Vacation Bible School soon.”
“Okay,” Grace chirped, still looking at the comic book.
Billy John frowned. “You can’t s . . . s . . . stay while I work?”
Grace glanced up at him and grinned. “Not today, but I made you something so you wouldn’t forget me while I’m away.” She withdrew a small rectangle of paper from her pocket and handed it to Billy John.
“I’m going now. Call me when you're done and I'll come back to pick you up, dear,” Mrs. Farth said. “Have a good day!”
“Bye, Mama,” Billy John said absently while he unfolded the piece of paper, ignoring the car as it drove away. Grace had drawn a large purple diamond that touched the top, bottom, and two sides of the paper with its points. In the center the letters B and J had been drawn with a bright yellow crayon, outlined with red.
“It’s for your superhero costume!” Grace said, excitedly, tracing the letters with her finger. “I wrote B for Billy and J for John – you’ll be Super Billy John. We just have to figure out your super power.” She frowned in thought.
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