The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol. 2
Page 1
The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol. 2
Edited by Lyle Perez-Tinics & Eloise J. Knapp
Rainstorm Press
POBOX 391038
Anza, Ca 92539
www.RainstormPress.com
The characters depicted in these short stories are completely fictitious, and any similarities to actual events, locations or people, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, in whole or in part, without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in reviews. For information regarding permissions please contact the publisher Contact@RainstormPress.com
The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol. 2
Rainstorm Press http://www.RainstormPress.com
Copyright © 2011 by Rainstorm Press
All rights reserved
Interior design by –
The Mad Formatter
www.TheMadFormatter.com
Cover illustration by David Naughton-Shires
http://www.TheImageDesigns.com
This book is dedicated to the foster kids at
Hugs Foster Family Agency
http://www.HugsFFA.org
Acknowledgment
Net proceeds from this book will be donated to Hugs Foster Family Agency. No author or illustrator has been compensated for their time and efforts. Our payment is to help provide their foster children with a wonderful Christmas
Table of Contents
Stories and Poems
Introduction
By John Olson and Bud Hanzel
Oh, Tannenbaum
By Rebecca Snow
How I Got My Sack Back
By Stephen Johnston
Death and the Magi
By Joe McKinney
‘Twas A Season of Zombies
By Rebecca Besser
Emergency Rescue
By Kelly Dunn
The Last Christmas
By Emma Ennis
Zombie Party Mix
By Beth Bartlett
Attack of the Zombie Toys
By Melissa Helwig
Zombies Don’t Jingle
By Rusty Fischer
Zombies We Have Heard on High
By Jamie Freeman
You Better Watch Out
By Scott Morris
Christmas of the Dead
By Timothy J. Collins
Daddy’s Angel
By Kevin Walsh
Dinner at Eight, Dead by Dawn
By Nathan Correll
With a Little Help from my Elves
By Suzanne Robb
Believe, Annie
By Eloise J. Knapp
The Gingerbreads 2: The Girl in the Christmas Pajamas
By Lyle Perez-Tinics
The Last Noel
By Craig W. Chenery
Zombies Don’t Pop
By Rusty Fischer
Survivor’s Christmas Carols
By Bud Hanzel and John Olson
Comics
A Zombie Christmas Story
By Robert Freese
Illustrated by Amanda Stoltz
Even Zombies Need a Christmas
By Brian S. Logan
Illustrated by Brian McCranie
Looking A Gift Dog in the Mouth
By Wm. Brian MacLean
Illustrated by Wm. Brian MacLean
All Sales Final
By Mike Schneider
Illustrated by Alex Kautz
Meet the Contributors
Introduction
By John Olson & Bud Hanzel, authors of “The Do-It-Yourself Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse.”
“Start watchin’ the news, and keep a sharp eye.
Start seeing the clues, I’m telling you why
The ZTA is coming to town!”
The Zombie Transforming Agent isn’t just coming, it seems to have arrived. And, just in time for Christmas! What better way to ring in the seasonal cheer, than to sip a piping mug of hot chocolate, wrap your feet in a snuggly blanket, lean back in your favorite chair, before a gently crackling fire (inside the fireplace, we hope), adjust your reading lamp, and enjoy a great book about... ZOMBIES!! Well my friend, this is the book for you.
Welcome to volume two of The Undead That Saved Christmas. Second of what we know will be an ongoing charitable Christmas tradition.
When we heard about Lyle Perez-Tinics’ first charity anthology it was already too late to submit anything, but we were sure to order a copy when it came out (it is for the kids after all). When Lyle called us and asked us to write this year’s introduction we were both honored and flattered, as we are relative newcomers to the whole zombie genre.
Still, we were also excited to hear that the first volume was a success, and that this year’s crop of stories was shaping up to be even better.
So, what can we say about Christmas, and zombies, that S. G. Browne didn’t already say last year? We too have imagined our favorite Christmas movies redone in Romeroesque tradition. Hordes of ravenous zombies dutifully marching the Macy’s balloons down 34th street, or Clarence zombifying all of Bedford Falls, just to show George that his life has purpose, or Scrooge being visited by three Christmas Zombies. But there is more to zombifying Christmas, than your favorite movies retold in gory glory, (besides Ted Turner kind of zombified them all with colorization a few years back anyway).
At first thought, you might consider the traditions of Christmas to sacred for zombification. But we encourage you to take a moment and think about what Christmas has become in modern culture; glowing neon Rudolphs, crepe paper snowmen and plastic Santas adorning every shopping mall, encouraging you to “BUY”. And worse in the world of retail this all begins around September. We don’t know about you, but as much as we like Christmas music, we really don’t want to listen to it from before Halloween, until well after New Years. With all that holiday cheer being shoved down our throats, by the time Christmas Eve actually arrives there is nothing left at the shopping malls but a bunch of last minute zomnabulating shoppers. Virtually gone is the tradition of giving, replaced by a commercial nightmare of frenzied purchases, and much regretted debt. So, is it really such a stretch to match Christmas and zombies?
Where, you may ask is the real magic of Christmas, the love of our neighbors and the genuine selfless spirit of giving? Well, for our part, we think you find it right here in the pages of this very book, and its predecessor, volume one. Remember, this is a charitable endeavor, not one of the contributing authors, artists, or Lyle himself receives any compensation for the time and effort that it has taken to produce this tome. All of the profit goes directly to provide a brighter holiday for the kids of Hugs Foster Family Agency. If that’s not a Christmas gift, we don’t know what is.
The stories in this volume will make you think, scare you a little and feed your love of zoms. Volume one was a great effort, and we honestly believe that Volume two is better. So we thank you on behalf of all the contributors for joining in this literary feast of Christmas giving by purchasing your copy of this book.
As we’ve learned, last year and this, there are many stories to be told melding zoms with the holidays, and this book has brought a slew of them together for your reading pleasure. So, grab your favorite holiday drink, be it Hot Chocolate, Egg Nog, a cup of mulled wine, or even a hot, Dr. Pepper Toddy, relax, and sink your teeth into Volume two of The Undead That Saved Christmas. We know you will enjoy it. (PS: it makes a great stocking stuffer)
“Bloody sidewalks panicked crosswalks
Zombies crowding the scene
In the air, there's a feeling of chaos”
John Olson & Bud H
anzel
Hanson Press, Inc.
Red Wing, MN
September, 22 2011
Story Art Cover
By Lindsay Babroski
www.Facebook.com/TheHideyHole
Dedication
Oh, Tannenbaum is dedicated to my parents. There's nothing like a brisk walk through the woods searching for the perfect tree while dodging branches and carrying a splitting maul. Thanks for all the lights and tinsel.
Author Bio
Rebecca Snow lives in Virginia with her husband in house described as haunted with a bit of crazy cat lady on the side. Her short fiction has been published in a number of recent anthologies. At Christmastime, she enjoys making Santa roadkill cookies. Adore her on Facebook (look for the bloody hand print) or stalk her on Twitter @cemeteryflower.
Oh, Tannenbaum
By Rebecca Snow
Snowflakes swirled to the ground beyond the steamed glass. Ed swiped his sleeve across the pane to stare into the storm.
“Get away from there,” Betty whispered. “You don’t want them to find us, do you?”
Ed exhaled a deep breath resteaming the window before stepping back into the shadowy room. They’d been cooped up for weeks, and tomorrow was Christmas. He didn’t believe in Santa, but Betty had always liked to pretend.
“It’s snowing enough that I don’t think it would matter if I were running around in my birthday suit. They’re not going to be hunting now,” Ed said, dropping onto the braided rug, rolling onto his back, and crossing his arms behind his head.
“You’d be frozen solid if you did that,” Betty said with wide eyes.
Ed turned his head and stared at his wife. Sitting up, he smirked. He propped himself up on one arm as a full grin ripened across his broad face.
“I think you’ve just given me an idea.” Ed kissed the woman on her rosy cheek and scrambled to his feet, dusting his hands on his thighs. “What do you think the temperature is out there?”
Betty shrugged and yanked a loose thread hanging from her jeans.
“It’s got to be close to freezing,” she said rubbing her hands up and down her flannel-clad arms. “Look at that snow piling up. We could build an igloo if it weren’t for those murderers. If you want to know the exact temperature, I think there’s a thermometer hanging on the porch.”
Ed stepped toward the door. Shooting to her feet, Betty grabbed her husband’s arm almost toppling him back onto the floor.
“Don’t go out there,” she said. “You can’t go out there.”
After regaining his balance, Ed forced his wife’s hands from his wrist.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “If it’s as cold as I think it is, nothing’s going to get me.”
As Ed unlocked the three dead bolts and turned the knob, Betty climbed into the closet, closed the door, and squatted behind the hanging coats. Ed shook his head in disbelief, opened the front door, and turned to peer into the blanketed yard.
Snow covered the carnage like cemetery dirt covered a casket. None of the month-long slaughter had seeped in and marred its whiteness. Ed didn’t know if month old blood could seep, but the yard looked nicer than it had since the killings began. He could almost make himself forget about the dead guys that wanted to eat his brains.
Ed took a few tentative steps across the porch and squinted at the mercury in the thermometer. Twenty-eight degrees. He blew out a puff of air and watched it condense into a cloud of opaque fog. Wiping his feet on the black, rubber welcome mat, he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him.
Ed knocked on the closet and heard a muted scream.
“It’s only me,” he said. “Can I come in?”
The doorknob turned, and the hinges squeaked. Betty’s back remained stuffed in the corner as Ed grabbed his heavy coat and snow boots. His wife stared up at him like a child lost in an amusement park.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise,” Ed said zipping up the down parka.
“You can’t leave me here,” she squeaked. “You won’t come back.”
Ed leaned into the closet and tucked a stray curl behind his wife’s ear.
“I will come back,” he said grinning. “I promise.”
Betty whimpered as Ed shut her in the closet. He knew she wouldn’t mind.
He began gathering his gear after making a quick mental list. His gun was of no use; two weeks ago, he’d run out of ammunition taking out what was left of the high school cheerleading squad. Hefting his hatchet, he shrugged on his parka and slid the little ax into his belt. He stuffed a cloth grocery bag into one of his coat pockets and pulled on his winter gloves. Ed opted not to don the coat’s fur-trimmed hood hoping that he’d hear danger in time to react. Before heading into the storm, he refilled the two five-gallon buckets with snow. When Betty came out of the closet, she’d have fresh water to drink. Maybe she’d fire up some Sterno and make a cup of coffee for him when he returned.
The quiet world lay before him. An occasional swish of packed snow crashed from a tree branch. Otherwise, the scene was silent. Ed took the sharpened shovel leaning on the porch rail and stepped into the fresh powder. The snow under his boot crunched invading the winter hush. Ed stopped and listened. No shuffling footsteps approached, no incessant moans filled the air. Ed took another step and repeated the process. After five more wary steps, he plodded toward the road without hesitation.
Massey’s, the local country store, was a fifteen-minute walk from Ed and Betty’s front door on a sunny day. With the snow, the walk might take a few extra minutes. If the dead caught wind of him, it might take less. But Ed had a theory. He believed in the temperature and its ability to freeze flesh solid. He didn’t think the dead could walk in this weather. From the lack of fresh footprints, he guessed he was right.
The store’s interior was dark, but that was no surprise. The whole town had lost power a week ago. Peering through the windows, he saw the shelves stocked with more items than he’d need. The mom and pop store wasn’t ransacked like the convenience stores he’d seen on the city news. As he pushed open the door, a little bell rang above his head and echoed through the stillness.
“Hello?” Ed half whispered. “Anybody home?”
He held the shovel in front of him and spun around in a tight half circle. Something fell in the back room. Ed froze. The store remained quiet. He took a step toward a snack rack and retrieved the grocery bag from his coat pocket. Snapping the bag open, he began to fill it with beef-jerky and candy bars.
The sound of a sliding foot announced an unwanted visitor. Ed’s muscles tightened as he lowered the sack to the floor and raised the shovel. A form approached. Mr. Jones, the store’s proprietor, shuffled into the dim light that fell through the window. The store’s ambient temperature wasn’t as cold as the outside air, so the dead inside were still mobile.
Ten feet away from Ed, the dead man moaned. Ed took a step forward and swung the shovel with every ounce of his strength. The corpse’s skull collapsed; its body dropped to the floor.
Ed reached for the handles of the bag and dragged it to another shelf. An endcap of Christmas supplies caught his eye. As he crammed a wad of glittery tinsel between a box of Twinkies and a can of peas, a cracker rack crashed to the floor behind him. Ed looked up in time to see two hands reach from the wreckage. The body rolled trying to right itself but slid on loose Lance packages instead.
Ed rushed the struggling figure and lifted the blade of his shovel. Mrs. Jones grunted when she caught a glimpse of Ed through her milky eyes before he thrust the tip of the spade down severing the deceased woman’s neck. Ed scooped up the still snapping head and tossed it into a corner before retrieving his plunder.
By the time he stepped back into the winter wonderland, the bag bulged with goodies. He was sure Betty would be surprised.
The sky darkened as he made his way through his disappearing footprints. When he’d hiked halfway home, he saw a little, fat evergreen tree. The tiny trunk snapp
ed after a few blows from his hatchet. Juggling the bag, the tree, and the shovel, Ed thought about whistling a Christmas song but decided against pressing his luck any further.
“Honey, I’m home,” Ed called, dragging his haul into the house and shaking the snow out of his hair.
The closet door yawned. Betty poked her head out of a pile of sweaters she’d pulled down from a shelf. Her eyes bulged wild with terror. When she saw Ed’s face, she hurled herself from the confining space and flew into his overburdened arms.
“I thought you’d never come back,” she said, blanketing his face with quick kisses and ignoring his merchandise. “I was so scared. I heard some noises outside after you left, but they went away.”
Ed dropped his cargo and put a finger over his wife’s flapping lips.
“You heard noises?” he whispered. “What kind of noises?”
Betty raised her eyebrows and swatted his hand away from her face. She pulled him close and burrowed her head into the folds of his coat.
“I was so scared they were going to get inside,” she said in a muffled voice.
Ed pushed his wife back and held her at arm’s length. Catching her glazed gaze with his own steady one, he raised an eyebrow and spoke as if to a hyperactive toddler.
“What…did…you…hear?”
“Oh, I heard some far away tapping. Could have been gunshots. There were noises on the roof, like squirrels hiding nuts. And I thought I heard a bell.”
“No scratching at the door? No moaning in the yard?” Ed asked.
Betty shook her head and scrambled back into his arms. He held her for a moment before kissing the top of her head. He picked her up and swung her around in a circle.