“That’s crazy.”
“Yeah, but did you see the news just now. Something’s going on up in Charlotte and Lee thinks it won’t be long before the world is in the same crap, that the same thing will happen here and there and everywhere.”
“You don’t believe him, do you?”
“I don’t know.”
It didn’t matter if he believed or not. A little over an hour passed and Lee had not shown up. He started to feel like a fool, that Lee had gotten one over on him. Then he saw the headlights swing into his driveway through the front windows. He opened the door and stepped onto the porch.
There were four vehicles in tow, Lee’s in the driveway, Mike Simmons’ parked behind Lee, but still in the road, Jake’s beat up pick-up truck and Davey Blaylock’s not so beat up truck. Lee was the first one out of the cars, followed by Mike and Davey and then Jake and Pop pulling himself out of Jake’s passenger’s side.
“Are you ready?”
“No.”
“What? Why not? I called you an hour ago, Hank. We’ve got to go.”
“Honestly, I didn’t believe you.”
“Seriously? You’ve got to be kidding me? You’re kidding me, right?”
“No. Come on, man. How many jokes did you play on me when we were kids?”
“This isn’t a joke, Hank,” Pop said as he walked into the light of the front porch. His face looked older than Hank ever recalled it looking. The wrinkles on his face looked like grooves. The bags beneath his eyes were gray and drooping. “He’s serious.”
“Pop, you too?”
“I didn’t believe him, Hank, but he’s telling the truth. There’s stuff all over social media, stuff the news isn’t telling folks. The dead are rising and they’re not right in the head. They’re killing and…and eating people.”
Hank shook his head. “That’s crazy. The dead are dead, Pop. They can’t get up, much less kill and eat people. This is ridiculous.”
“Hank, this isn’t a joke,” Davey said and walked up. He held his phone out to Hank. “Look.”
A video played. The person recording it was yelling obscenities, clearly in disbelief at what he was filming. A woman was on the ground, struggling against three people, two men and another woman from what Hank could tell. She was screaming and then she was wailing as one of the men sank his teeth into her shoulder. There was blood and there were more screams and curses, these from the amateur videographer filming the scene. Then the video ended.
“What the hell was that?”
“That’s just one of the many videos people have uploaded, many of them within the last few hours. We have to get out of here.”
“Where was that filmed?”
“Rock Hill.”
Hank shook his head. “This can’t be real, man. This can’t be.”
“It is,” Jake said. “Hank, for once Lee isn’t playing a joke. Please, let’s go.”
Hank turned to Jeanette. She no longer held the towel, but her face was the epitome of fear. He could see tears brimming in her eyes. “Get Bobby.”
“Hank.”
“Get Bobby,” he repeated, a little more forcefully. He hated the tone of his voice and instantly regretted it, but Jeanette turned and went inside.
“What’s the plan?”
“Table Rock,” Lee said. “We’ll board ourselves up for a few days—this can’t last too long, right?”
“Okay. What if it last more than a week? What are we going to do for food and water and whatever else we need?”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes. For now, we need to get out of here.”
“I’m not going,” Pop said. He leaned against Jake’s truck, his arms folded over his chest.
“Pop,” Lee started to protest. “You agreed this was a good idea.”
“It is. For you guys. Not for me.”
“Pop.”
“No. You guys go on along. I’m not leaving. I’ll stay, and I’ll fight.”
“Pop, you’re not staying here,” Lee said.
“Boy, I’ve never run from anything in my life and I’m not about to start.”
“This isn’t like anything else in your life. This is the dead killing the living.”
Pop nodded, a quick, jerky motion. “I know.”
“You can’t kill something that is already dead.”
“You can kill anything, Lee,” Pop said. “You should know. You killed that fence when you were a kid.”
Hank smiled, but didn’t laugh. Lee didn’t smile at all. The fence took a shotgun shell that didn’t come close to hitting the can on the post near it. Lee broke his collarbone, thanks to the kick from Pop’s shotgun.
“This is different, Pop.”
“Lee, listen to me, son,” Pop said. He sagged against the truck and in that instant, he aged another ten years. “I’m not long for this world. Not if this is the end of it. I’ll kill off as many of them as I can, and then I’ll hole myself up in my house. If they take me, well, at least I’ll get to go home to your momma.”
“Pop.”
“No. Get along. Jake can take me home.”
“No,” Davey Blaylock said. “I’ll take you home, and I’ll stay with you.”
“Davey, you won’t do that. You’re going to go with them and—“
“Mr. Walker, I’m not married and I have no kids. You are my family. I’m staying with you.”
Lee spun in an angry circle, his arms over his head in disgust and then dropping to his sides. “You guys are crazy.”
“No, they’re not,” Hank countered. “Someone needs to try to stop them. Why not just make a stand?”
“Make a stand? You’re kidding me. This is nuts. You don’t know what’s coming.”
“And you do, I know.”
“Hank, what is wrong with you, man? You’ve always been the level-headed one.”
“I’m staying. This is our home. This is where our friends are, our families.”
“Hank, no.” That was Jeanette. She grabbed his arm and turned him toward her. “No. If this is true, we are not staying here and waiting to get overwhelmed by the dead.”
“We’re not. I am. You’re going with them. Bobby, too.”
“No.” Tears spilled down her face. “You can’t do this.”
“I can, Jeanette, and I will. I’m not leaving my pop to die, and I’m not letting you guys stay here, either. Go to Table Rock and wait for us there. We shouldn’t be too long.”
Though the discussion wasn’t over, everyone there knew to argue would be to lose. Hank Walker wasn’t one to change his mind once it was made up. Less than two hours later, the carpool pulled away from the house, a tearful, sobbing Jeanette and Bobby in the truck with Jake, the youngest of the Walker brothers. Left behind were Hank, Davey Blaylock, Pop and Lee, the one who had come up with the plan to get out of town, to head for the hills.
“This is crazy,” Lee said. They sat at the kitchen table, just him and Hank. He popped the top on a beer and tilted it up, drinking most of it down before setting the can on the table. “We should have went with them.”
Hank nodded, took a swallow of his own beer. “Maybe so, but I’m not about to leave Pop alone if the dead come marching this way.”
“He’s a tough old bird.”
“Yeah, but he’s our tough old bird, and he would never leave us if the shoe was on the other foot.”
The conversation ended when Davey Blaylock ran through the front door, his rifle in hand, the wild eyes of a hunted animal rolling around in their sockets. “It’s started.”
“It’s started?” Lee asked. “What do you mean, it’s started?”
“The dead…they’re here.”
Lee and Hank exchanged nervous glances, and stood from the table, the beers forgotten, their lives forever changed.
Outside, a man shambled up the street toward them. His shirt had been torn and the skin on his face had been scratched. Blood had dried on those wounds. His skin was pale and his eyes held bruised bags
beneath them. He didn’t wear shoes and one sock flopped about the ground as he stumbled along. Then he turned to them, his dead eyes void of any shine in the glow of the streetlamp he passed beneath. His jaw hung slack.
“Do any of y’all recognize him?” Pop asked.
“No,” they answered, almost in unison.
“Does he look dead to y’all?”
“He does,” Hank said.
“What are we going to do?” Lee asked.
“Kill it,” Pop responded and lifted his rifle. He took aim and squeezed the trigger. A hole appeared in the man’s chest. Blood spilled from it, but the man only trundled backward a few steps before beginning his forward advance again.
“What the…?”
“Shoot him again,” Hank said.
Pop took aim a second time, and squeezed the trigger. Like the first shot, the second one entered the chest. A blossom of blood appeared on the man’s shirt, but he didn’t go down.
Davey raised his pistol, took a shot. The bullet struck the man in the head, sheering off the top of the left side of his skull. The man fell backward, his arms trailing behind him. He landed on the ground with a soft thud.
“Over there,” Lee said and pointed to a woman coming out of the darkness. Like the man, she lurched up the street. Blood crusted her mouth and chin and the front of her blouse. She turned to them, let out a low groan and picked up her pace.
Hank lifted his rifle and squeezed the trigger…
A.J. Brown
A.J. Brown is a story teller who pens emotionally charged, character driven stories that often include a touch of the dark paranormal.
If you would like to learn more about A.J. you can check out his blog, Type AJ Negative. You can also find him on Facebook at his personal profile (ajbrown36) or his author page (www.facebook.com/typeajnegative).
You can also find his other books, Along the Splintered Path, Southern Bones, Cory’s Way, and A Stitch of Madnesson Amazon. You can get the print versions of all of those books on Amazon as well, but if you would like to purchase one signed and for a significantly lower price, contact A.J. directly through his e-mail address,[email protected].
Or you can visit his online store at: https://squareup.com/market/aj-brown. A list of all of his publications can be found on his blog, Type AJ Negative.
Fairy Rings
By Robert Dunne
The following is a translated transcript from a collection of Dictaphone mini cassettes salvaged from the fire in the laboratory of Dr. Gustavo Del Rocha. Dr. Gustavo was a Brazilian physician, biomedical scientist and neurologist. Operating out of the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro on behalf of the Brazilian Armed Forces, he was a Guggenheim Fellowship for Natural Science Award winner and a well decorated, beloved man of science. It is alleged that the fire that took Dr. Gustavo's life was deliberately lit by the doctor himself.
Please note some sections and names have been expunged to protect the identity and locations of the persons and places described within. It should also be noted not all tapes were salvageable from the fire allegedly started by Dr. Gustavo. Several months’ worth of tapes are missing presumed to be destroyed. The timeline is put together at the transcriber’s discretion.
Doctor Gustavo De Rocha - 1904 - 1970.
G.D.R - Gustavo Del Rocha
*** - Inaudible.
G.D.R - Good morning. My name is Dr Gustavo Del Rocha. Time is 8:04, January 22nd 1969. This is my first entry using the Dictaphone, as opposed to my normal method of simply keeping manual notes. I am trying this new method in order to save valuable time. Forgive me anybody that may be listening in the future for any errors I may make. Hopefully the content of which I am speaking about will make up for any recording errors. My research has become too important to not catalogue and I have no assistance to aid my research, thus the Dictaphone has become necessary.
The primary objective of my new research has moral limitations and I suspect may be the direct result of my funding cuts and would probably explain the military interest. In short I hope to discover how human thoughts are formed. Through the aid of living mice and donated human brain samples the focus will be on genetics and chemical reactions in the brain.
Although funding for this project has been somewhat truncated I am still able to do my research with the best facilities the government can supply.
G.D.R - January 22nd 8:59. My research has bought me to new levels in the understanding of the molecular mechanisms that are key to the neuronal migration in humans and perhaps mice. My studies have found that nuclear migration through microtubule networks is heavily dependent on the dynamics of the neuronal migration.
(A beeping alarm sound can be heard in the background) G.D.R - Damn it... I apologize for the distraction. I have a personal alarm set to go off periodically throughout the day to remind me to take my medication. The stresses I am under and simply put, my age, have some certain ... negative effects. So I set my self a reminder to take my pills during the day. Such fascinating work easily distracts, but now I will hopefully be reminded. (The Dictaphone is left on while presumably the doctor takes his medication)
Where was I? Oh yes, I hope to discover and perhaps even alter - in time - the factors and cellular reactions that make up the human thought process. I believe that eventually I will discover what it is that gives us thought and individuality and ultimately what it is that makes up the human mind. That part of our brain that gives us conscience, gives us unexpected cravings for food or feelings of lust or anger or sadness or any of the gamete of the many emotions we are capable of. The part of our brain that separates humans from animal.
G.D.R - Oh the pure joy I receive from looking down the microscope into the cerebral cortex. Oh excuse me. Time is ... 11:15 January 28th. The precision of the layering, it brings with it ... such order and comparability. The Neuronal migration occurring beneath the very lens giving the ability for higher thought is clearly evident. My research has always involved other regions of the brain, including the cerebellum, hippocampus, and colliculi. All architects in the cellular production of the neuronal journey. But I find a certain joy in the study of the cortex and the order it brings to the process.
G.D.R - February 13th, 8:00. I have been riding this rollercoaster of knowledge for a few exhausting months now. I haven’t been sleeping and have been keeping long hours to get the answers I need. We know of radial and tangential migration. Static movement of cells or the mitosis production of new cells. The most important question of my investigations has been: What are the molecular mechanisms that drive this migration? With the current research in the mutations in the lab mice we have come some leaps and bounds in this field. Simply put, by rearranging the cortex and disorganizing other brain layering in the hippocampus we have not only manifested physical changes in the mice, behavioural changes have also occurred. Heightened Sensitivity and aggression seem to be common in all the mice tested. Even with all the success we have already come in this short amount of time, I can't help but feel that our research will be hindered using only mice and donated human cells. The mice simply don't have all the complex proteins used in neuronal migration to fully understand the process.
G.D.R - Dr. Del Rocha. Feb 22. Afternoon. So far we can see some new developments with the human and mice mutations. I have unraveled a pathway that involves extracellular guidance cues, intracellular signaling molecules, and a number of proteins that are associated within.
It seems with every new discovery it brings several more questions. I open one door only to find ten more closed doors. The next big question now is: How do these mutations operate to affect how a neuron actually moves? The frustration of working by myself also means I have no others to bounce ideas off of. I know this will sound crazy (mumbling)*not that anyone would know or care* But, insight into the mechanism may come from an extremely unlikely source - Mushrooms (laughing). Fungi are closer to animals than plants in many ways. Fungal cell walls are made of chitin, the same molecule that make
s up an insect's outer shells, but is found nowhere in the plant world.
Neural pathways of some fungus are inherently similar to the same neural pathways of the algae that humans were believed to have evolved from. Fungal proteins look more like animal than plant proteins. That's why they get called meat for vegetarians (laughing). Similarities in certain species of fungus differentiate in the neocortical regions and are distinguishable by the same variations in their histological structure and functional roles in sensation, cognition and behaviour. It sounds a little farfetched, but I think with an open mind we may be able to unravel more of the human mind with the involvement of these mushrooms.
G.D.R February 25th. Simply by using UV radiation and a powerful microscope it is possible to track the migration of the similar proteins and can directly collate to the same functions of the human cerebral cortex. Who would have thought that studying a simple mushroom could lend so much science to the cerebral cortex - one of the most complex structures on the planet?
The one up side from having no assistance and less funding, is I have no one to interfere with my research. No eyes looking over my shoulder to determine if I am spending their money correctly... A lot of people would laugh me out of the office if they knew I was studying mushrooms to further this complicated field.
G.D.R - Today is March the 2nd. Now this has rejuvenated this old man. Hopefully using a not so common mushroom we will speed up results very quickly. From one of my trips through the Amazon jungle I recalled one of the most fascinating fungus. The Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis or as I like to call it - the Zombie mushroom. It has some remarkable and unique capabilities. The modus operandi (Latin: roughly means method of operation) of the Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis fungi is some nasty business. These parasites grow inside an insect host, usually an ant, by feeding off the non-vital organs; they then manipulate the hosts' behaviour with an end goal of reproduction. After all isn't that what life is all about? Making new life - reproducing? I digress, when this zombie mushroom is ready to produce spores, it grows into the brain of the unwilling host and releases chemicals that cause the ant to climb the nearest plant then attach itself near the top. It does this by manipulating the thought process and giving the ant but one goal only. The unwilling ant climbs the tree and bites down on a leaf securing itself. This mushroom can genuinely alter the behaviour of the ant and make it do its bidding. Simply fascinating! It then kills its host by devouring its brain, before sprouting its own offspring from the top of its head, which disperses its spores as widely as possible to potentially infect other nests. Continuing the life cycle. As they say life must go on and nature will find a way to reproduce.
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 2