Then I lowered myself onto the hearth, and tossing my bag over my shoulder, I stepped into the quiet and dark living room.
I hadn’t even taken another step, when something hard hit me in the back of the head, and I saw a flash that reminded me of the Northern Lights…
7
When I came to, I found myself chained in the basement. It was dark and the smell was dank. I immediately sensed my sack was nowhere near me.
Now, as much as it pains me to admit it, this kind of scenario was nothing new. You might be surprised the number of misguided souls who’d, over time, thought my capture might lead to their own personal gain, whether for financial, ideological, or religious reasons. They’d all failed. As this time they would again.
Before I could consider my predicament further, I heard the sound of something moving on the other side of the room, accompanied by a dull metallic clanking sound. This was followed by a low, guttural moan, that spoke of a ravenous hunger.
Then I was hit by the smell, a cloying stink, like a combination of rotted meat and vomit, and I knew instantly what was making that sound on the other side of the room. It was one of them.
As I’ve said, until that moment I’d had no direct experience with the walking dead, but I had no doubt what I was facing. It’s like I could sense the inherent wrongness, even if I couldn’t see it there in the dark, and for perhaps the first time in my long life, I felt a genuine fear start to consume me.
Then I heard it move again, accompanied by that metallic clank, and I realized it was chained to the opposite wall just as I was to mine. This provided me the comforting realization I wasn’t seconds away from being eaten, but provoked a deepening concern regarding my captor’s intentions. Was I meant to be kept in the basement with that thing as some sort of pet?
When I’d previously found myself in similar predicaments, it usually resulted from some poor soul’s misguided belief I might be the source of unlimited riches, as if I were a genie or leprechaun with a pot of gold. It doesn’t work like that. We’re talking totally separate branches of magic, with entirely different sets of rules. Anyway, I was fast coming to the conclusion this was about something else entirely, something far more malevolent, and I was pretty sure somebody was about to go straight to the top of my naughty list.
Then light appeared from above as the door at the top of the stairs opened, and footsteps made their way into the basement.
Suddenly I was blinded by a flashlight’s bright light, and I was confronted by two people I couldn’t see. They stood there, directing the light directly into my eyes, as if to avoid confronting me face to face.
Before either of them could speak, I stared straight into the light and asked, “Bob. Susan. What in the Spirit of Christmas do you think you’re doing?”
A moment passed, and the flashlight wavered slightly, “Uh… you know who we are?”
“Of course I know who you are, Bob,” I replied, putting more disappointment than anger in my voice. “You too, Susan. I could hardly do my job if I didn’t know who you are. Now how about getting that light out of my eyes and telling me what’s going on… And Bob, if that’s the same Mag-Lite I brought you nine years ago, it’s pretty lame to use it on me like that.”
The light remained directed at my eyes for another few seconds, but I could sense resignation taking hold, and finally the flashlight was lowered and I could see the two of them standing there, averting their eyes in shame.
“Now, before I put you on the permanent naughty list, turn me loose and explain what’s going on here.”
I figured that was pretty much it, they’d accept defeat and turn me loose as I’d suggested, but instead Bob turned the focus of the flashlight’s beam on the other side of the basement.
That circle of light lit the ghostly face on the other side of the room, and I immediately recognized her as the little girl to whom I’d previously delivered dolls and doll houses and an easy-bake oven and happiness. Now she stared at me with a burning, malevolent hunger, as she strained at the chains that stopped her from eating me or her parents.
“We’ll let you go,” said Susan. “Just as soon as you cure Eden… bring her back to life and give us our little girl back, and we’ll… we’ll let you go.”
8
Magic’s like religion; everybody’s got their own beliefs, and for whatever reason, they all seem to think their belief supersedes all others, that something inherently unknowable can be known, but it’s dangerous to think the purpose of magic or religion is personal benefit or enrichment. (Witness the number of evangelists whose piousness leads to imprisonment.)
This point I tried to make to Bob and Susan, explaining that though my heart went out to them, I had no power or authority to bring Eden back to life, and that even the desire to do so was a road to moral forfeiture.
Of course, this was the last thing they wanted to hear, and they told me the only forfeiture I should be worried about was that of my own freedom, and they stomped off upstairs as if I was a child left to ponder some horrible thing I’d done.
The only pondering I did was focused on how to extricate myself from my predicament. Then I heard another set of footsteps, lighter this time, coming slowly down the stairs…
It was Timmy, and as he approached me his face betrayed a mosaic of emotions like only a child’s can; there was sadness, fear, embarrassment, confusion, and the heart-breaking thing that happens to a person’s eyes when they’ve grown devoid of hope. And he was laboring under the weight of something he carried on his back.
“Didn’t you get my letter?” he asked me, the question in the form of an accusation.
“Well, I got two, Tim, but they each held a very different message.”
“So, you brought the doll?” he responded, suddenly hopeful and catching me off guard. It was hard to imagine what importance a doll might carry at that point.
“I… brought what you asked for, as I do for all deserving children, but as you can see, I’m a little tied up at present.”
There was a moment as he seemed to consider this, then unburdened himself of the weight on his back and dropped my sack at my feet. “Does this help,” was all he said.
I was still nonplussed at my predicament, and even more so by his strange behavior, but as my entire reason for existence was the return of one good turn for another, I drew my sack closer and reached into it with my one free hand.
As I drew out the doll, Timmy immediately lunged forward and swiped it from my hand. Then, giving it a quick inspection, he turned and approached the other side of the basement… where his zombie sister Eden had been watching us the whole time.
“Here ya go, sis,” he said, handing her the doll. by hIt’s, like, the first thing I can give you in a long time that isn’t raw meat.”
Undead Eden took it, initially in confusion, and for a moment it seemed she was about to take a bite out of it, but then she pulled it to her chest in a hug, and gave her brother the closest thing to a smile the living dead are capable of.
That’s when I understood why he’d written me asking for the doll, and why he’d followed it up with a letter warning me not to come.
There, in a nutshell, was the Spirit of Christmas, and I realized the gift I’d been given was more profound than Timmy could possibly understand.
And I also realized there was something I could do for this family after all.
9
When Timmy turned and discovered me standing there, free of the chain that bound me and holding my sack over my shoulder, he went through the same range of emotions he’d shown earlier; the same fear and confusion and loss of hope.
“You tricked me,” he said. “Now I’m going to be in trouble.”
“I didn’t trick you, Timmy, and you did the right thing. You gave me my sack back. When you’re older you’ll understand exactly what that means to a man, even Santa Claus.”
“So you’re just going to leave us here?”
His query was so plaintiff and ful
l of defeat, I immediately dropped my sack and pulled him into a tight hug, “I’m not leaving you, buddy, but there’s a whole world of people out there who need hope just as much as you do.”
“I screwed up. I gave you back your sack and my parents are gonna be pissed at me.”
“Timmy, your parents got a little bit confused, but I got a little bit confused too. Thanks to you, you’ve reminded me what Christmas is really about, and soon enough, your parents will thank you too.”
For a moment I seemed to have spoken beyond his realm of understanding, but with the indefatigable goodwill of children, something approaching hope suddenly returned to his eyes.
“You can fix it?” he asked.
“I can’t fix it, but I can make it better.”
“What about my sister?”
“I can’t fix that, either. But there’s something I can do that’s better than keeping her chained in this basement.”
“What about my parents?”
“I can’t give them exactly what they want, but I think I’ve got a solution we can all live with.”
“What about the rest of the world?”
“Kid, you know the answer to that one, you should run for president someday.”
10
Now, on the subject of magic, and what I can or can’t do, the one thing that never changes is the unassailable power I have on Christmas night to grant people their wishes, and the almost unlimited magic I have at my disposal the realize that mission.
It was not within my power to give them their daughter back, but there was something I could do that might assuage their grief. While I was powerless to bring her back from the dead, I knew a way I could allow her to continue to live.
To this point, I addressed them with a simple proposal, one they were reluctant, but ultimately pleased to accept. “So we’re agreed, then?” I asked, already knowing their likely response.
“She’ll be taken care of?” Susan asked, showing a mother’s concern for her child.
“You have my personal guarantee.”
“What about what’s happening out there?!” Bob asked, perhaps still clinging to the notion I held some power I didn’t.
“I already told you, Bob. There’s nothing I can do about that. All I can do is grant you this wish… you won’t have to keep your daughter chained in your basement, and send your son down to feed her random pieces of meat like she’s livestock.”
“What about Timmy?” Susan asked, placing a maternal hand on her son’s head. “He have to go with you, too?”
“Susan, part of this plan is based on Tim staying here with you, because frankly, I think he has more to teach you than you do him.”
This gave them pause, and there was maybe even a moment’s indignation, but then they seemed to quickly understand their reaction only proved my point.
“We never meant any harm,” Susan said, like it was an apology.
“Yes, ma’am, I understand. After a lifetime compiling naughty and nice lists, I understand that sometimes there’s a gray area. But, I’m pretty sure you understand kidnapping me and keeping your undead daughter chained in the basement isn’t right.”
Bob and Susan looked at each other, and you could see the walls of intransigence crumble. It’s a hard thing to let go of your children, and that’s what they were doing, and in this case it was hardly as auspicious as sending her off to college.
Finally, Bob said, “Okay, take her, but please promise you’ll take care of her.”
“I promise,” I replied. “And I want you to promise you’ll do everything in your power to protect Timmy. To that end, I have something for you.”
That’s when I took a step back, reached into my sack, and produced the shotgun and shells the elves had presented me with only hours before.
I handed the weapon over, even as I wished Bob and his family would never have cause to use it.
Then I bid them a merry Christmas and was on my way.
11
As I returned to my sleigh and joined my flight-team on the roof, they were more than a little restless. I did my best to calm them and let them know everything was fine, and our mission was continuing according to plan, even if we would be breaking in a new team member.
It took a moment to incorporate another bridle into the team’s harness and tack, making sure the bit was virtually indestructible. Then we were ready to be off
As I stepped into my sleigh, I took the reigns, and with a glance at the household below me, I proclaimed: “On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen. On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen… Hey Rudolf… cut Eden some slack! It wasn’t that long ago you were the newbie, remember!”
What a sight we must’ve been, silhouetted against the sky, Santa’s sleigh and reindeer… led proudly into the night by a flying zombie.
God bless us everyone… except for the walking dead. They can kiss my jolly white butt.
Story Art Cover
By Jason Tudor
www.JasonTudor.com
Dedication
For Tina, all my love
Author Bio
Joe McKinney is the San Antonio-based author of several horror, crime and science fiction novels. His longer works include the four part Dead World series, made up of Dead City, Apocalypse of the Dead, Flesh Eaters and The Zombie King; the science fiction disaster tale, Quarantined, which was nominated for the Horror Writers Association’s Bram Stoker Award for superior achievement in a novel, 2009; and the crime novel, Dodging Bullets. His upcoming releases include the horror novels Lost Girl of the Lake, The Red Empire, The Charge and St. Rage. Joe has also worked as an editor, along with Michelle McCrary, on the zombie-themed anthology Dead Set, and with Mark Onspaugh on the abandoned building-themed anthology The Forsaken. His short stories and novellas have been published in more than thirty publications and anthologies.
In his day job, Joe McKinney is a sergeant with the San Antonio Police Department, where he helps to run the city’s 911 Dispatch Center. Before promoting to sergeant, Joe worked as a homicide detective and as a disaster mitigation specialist. Many of his stories, regardless of genre, feature a strong police procedural element based on his fifteen years of law enforcement experience.
A regular guest at regional writing conventions, Joe currently lives and works in a small town north of San Antonio with his wife and children.
Death and the Magi
By Joe McKinney
An Homage to O. Henry
The big Christmas tree in front of the Dayton Mall had fallen down sometime during the last year. Kevin’s gaze drifted over the faded tinsel and mud-encrusted ornaments and wondered when it had happened. Probably during the rains back in early September, he figured. Those had been bad. A lot of the area had flooded, and the winds that came with the rains must have done that damage to the tree as well.
Of course, he really didn’t know for sure. The only time he ever came back here anymore was at Christmastime. The world had ended three years before, just before Christmas, and the inside of the Dayton Mall still had a lot of decorations hanging from the common areas and inside the shop windows. Every year right around this time he made the trek back to the mall and scavenged whatever he could carry to decorate wherever he was living at the moment. These days, it had become a ritual, just like keeping up his calendar, and keeping his hair trimmed, and making sure his food stores were well stocked. The rituals, in fact, were about the only things that kept his morale up.
And God knows there was enough to feel depressed about.
There was a sort of soul-sucking loneliness that came with being the last man left alive.
It made him wonder if there was any reason to keep going. After all, did it matter when he died? Tomorrow, or thirty years from now, the results would be the same. After he was finished, humanity was finished. Wasn’t he just postponing the inevitable?
Could be. But he wasn’t quite ready to throw in the towel just yet.
For now, he had a mission.
> Kevin got down on his belly so he could squeeze between the front tandems of an 18 wheeler. From there, he watched the parking lot, figuring out a safe route over to the doors.
It actually didn’t look like it’d be very difficult this year. The zombie hordes that had swarmed the area in years past had thinned quite a bit. He didn’t know if the majority of them had moved on or decayed away to the point they couldn’t move anymore. Maybe they’d started to eat each other. Who the hell knew?
He supposed it didn’t really matter.
Fewer zombies meant it was easier to stay alive, and that was all that mattered.
There were fewer than fifty of them out there walking the parking lot now, and it didn’t take long for a wide gap to open up in the crowd. Kevin tensed, ready to run. Another few seconds and it would be wide enough for him to go.
And that’s when he saw her.
Mindy Matheson.
Holy shit, he thought. He stared at her for a long moment, watching her curious, clumsy movements. That really was her. That’s Mindy Matheson.
And she’s faking it.
* * *
It had been a while since he’d seen a faker.
Most didn’t last long. Right after the outbreak Kevin and some of the other survivors he’d hung out with back then had seen one or two a week. The fakers tried to make themselves look like zombies. They smelled like zombies, moved like zombies, had flies swarming around their eyes and mouths like zombies. But they weren’t zombies, and sooner or later, they messed up. They slipped out of character for just a second.
And that was all it took.
One tiny slip, one momentary distraction, and the zombies they moved with swarmed them.
Usually, at least as far as Kevin was concerned, it wasn’t much of a loss.
The only reason a person ever decided to fake it was because they had given up on their humanity. Surviving among the ruins of what the world had once been was hard. It sucked, in fact. In order to survive, in order to stay sane, you had to work at it. Every day was a fight. Every breath was bought with tears and sweat and loneliness. And sometimes, living free didn’t seem much of a pay back.
The Undead That Saved Christmas Vol. 2 Page 3