“Shucks, ma'am, for a smart little lady like you it was a cinched deal. I never doubted you. Feel up to taking a ride? I brought along a little filly for you, but if need be we can radio for a truck to give you a lift into town.”
Ming actually felt wonderful and began quickly removing the EVA suit. “I rode a horse many times when I went to summer camp. It was a few years back but probably like riding a bike, I guess.”
She finished taking off the last of the suit while watching distant dark spots up in the sky. Are they eagles? She wondered.
“The filly's name is Buttercup. Don't worry, she's a sweetheart,” Louis said taking Ming's hand and leading her to a black horse that had white spots on its legs.
Ming felt giddy and threw caution to wind, saying what she'd wanted to ever since first meeting him aboard the ISS. “Louis, ummm, remember how you always flirted with me and how I always acted like I hated it?” She looked up at the tall cowboy and saw his smile. “I really sort of liked it. And, uh... well-”
Her awkward words ended as his arms encircled her waist and he bent down to kiss her.
The horses chewed on the grass as a warm gentle breeze drifted over Louis and Ming. A distant sound of birds and the rustling of tall grass being whipped by the breeze was all she heard.
When the long passionate kiss finally ended Louis grinned and said, “What do you say? I can be your cowboy, and you can be my cowgirl.”
Ming giggled and told him something she'd heard in an old western movie once, “That would suit me right down to the ground.”
Louis was helping Ming up on her horse when the sound of approaching hoof beats could be heard. She patted the filly's neck gently and turned toward the noise. A large man was heading their way. The birds that had been distant specks were now casting shadows over Ming as they circled overhead. She looked up and the bright blue sky seemed darker. The birds were huge and Ming tried to sound calm as she asked, “Louis, what kind of birds are they?”
“Just a bunch of buzzards,” he said with a chuckle then added, “They ain't nuthin' to fret over, ma'am, they only eat the dead.”
The sky appeared several shades darker and she felt frantic while looking for the sun.
“Ming, this here's the man who found you. You landed slap dab in the middle of his tribe's reservation. Quit skylarking and say hello to him.”
The sun had been there earlier, she was sure of it. A growing disjointed feeling of confusion made her wish to shut her eyes but she didn't. Ming turned and stared in disbelief. The huge man on the approaching horse appeared bare-chested and had an impossibly enormous head featuring a crimson red face. His teeth were exposed in a friendly, yet creepy, grin that stretched almost literally from ear to ear. The smiling figure wore a headband with a tall red feather sticking up from the back.
The bird calls were mixed with a repetitive chirping that grew more pronounced and louder. Ming blinked her eyes as things appeared fuzzy. She tried to rub them but her hands refused to move.
“Meow, I want you to meet Chief-” Louis started saying but his voice grew softer then went silent while everything swiftly blurred before fading to black.
“No, no, no, Louis!” She shouted and tried to move.
For a moment she merely ached in a general nonspecific way, but the more she tried to move the pain quickly grew worse. The analytical portion of her mind categorized the feeling as if someone were savagely pummeling every inch of her body simultaneously.
A rapid repetitive electronic chirping sound was the first thing she became aware of, other than the pain. It reminded Ming of her alarm clock. The insistent chirping heralded the beginning of a new day, just as had throughout her life. When she'd been young the alarm made her react like a racehorse at the starting bell. A new day always held the promise of learning new things and the possibility of the unexpected.
Ming's eyes were still closed as she sat up, or at least tried to. It felt as if she were glued in place. Her thoughts were muddled and confused and a headache that reminded her of times when she'd eaten too much ice-cream too fast.
Her eyes crept open slightly and beheld a barely lit grime covered and faded billboard with an image of the red-face Indian from the dream. She shook her head and the shifting helmet spotlights exposed words printed next to the giant grinning face. Some of the words were too faded to decipher but two were clear. Chief Wahoo? What the heck is a Chief Wahoo? Ming wondered in confusion.
Hoping she was dreaming Ming looked up. Her neck ached but above the billboard she beheld a deep dark, nearly black, blue sky with tiny pinpoints of uncountable light-years distant stars. Off to her right, she noted a dark vertical line that stretched dozens of feet into the air. At its apex what appeared to be a big towel flapped weakly.
Ming lifted her arm, though it was unaccountably heavy but after straining with great effort she used her fingers to poke at the helmet's mute button. Her fingers felt clumsy, somehow lethargic, and just like her arm. The chirping ceased the moment her index finger finally discovered the mute button. The computerized 'heads up' display powered on.
The red flashing words OXYGEN RESERVE DEPLETED instantly caught her full attention.
Ming's fingers still felt drunken and mysteriously heavy as she reached for the helmet's emergency release lever. Under normal conditions the lever was never used because it usually caused extensive and very expensive damage to the helmet. As she struggled with the lever, Ming stared at the sky. The dark blue off to the left gradually lightened until on her far right the azure brightness of dawn made the promise of a new day. There was a metallic snap as the helmet seal was broken followed by a slight whoosh as air. She took a deep breath. As her sense of smell worked to categorize the aroma she gagged.
After spending nearly two years aboard the space station, with its complex system of air purifiers chugging away, Ming's sense of smell was overwhelmed as she got her first breath of planetary air. She choked, her stomach roiled unhappily, and Ming instantly felt ill. All she could detect was the overwhelmingly pungent aroma of death and decay. It reminded her of roadkill that had been left to rot for many days. Her eyes watered and it took all her willpower not to vomit from the assaulting stench.
With her eyes shut she tried to recall what flowers smelled like. It took a considerable amount of time before she felt less likely to throw up.
Off to her left golden yellow rays glinted off the top third of a silver colored flag pole. The partially torn Stars and Stripes atop the pole fluttered. Though the red, white, and blue colors were faded they still struck her as beautiful. She turned her head and tried to take in her surroundings. Directly ahead of her, several dozen feet away, there was an immense curving wall constructed out of cinder blocks. A huge billboard was attached to the wall. With dawn's light to make it easier to see, Ming stared at the image of the red-face Indian from the dream. The words painted above the grinning Indian's face were faded but after a moment she whispered what they seemed to be. “Chief Wahoo says make sure you lock your cars, and enjoy the game.”
Ming was confused. She never took an interest in sports but through osmosis overheard others occasionally talk about them. The name Chief Wahoo seemed familiar to her but no matter how hard she tried to place a location to the name nothing came to her.
I'm somewhere in Wyoming. I've got to be, she thought while turning to more pressing matters.
When the flag flapped more energetically, she felt her body swing back and forth more dramatically. Even when there was no wind her body swayed but finding a reason for this had been ignored as the stench of death was her initial concern. Every time the wind picked up and her body swung she heard a loud metallic tinging, which considering the helmet was still in place made her suspect the sound was even louder than she thought. She'd managed to break the air seal to breathe but removing it entirely would be much more difficult. The helmet was blocking her from looking up or down. Her muscles ached and she felt inexplicably exhausted while wrestling to remove th
e helmet. As she worked to take it off a much stronger wind began blowing. Her body swung in much wider pendulum-like arcs.
“Come on, get the hell off my head,” Ming grunted a moment before the helmet was completely unlatched and fell. It took almost three seconds before she heard it loudly clatter against the ground.
Low moans and harder to classify sounds followed. These were accompanied by the noise of her Extra Vehicular Suit being slammed repeatedly into something behind her.
Ming shut her eyes and focused on not panicking. A strong temptation to scream was building inside her.
"It would be highly illogical to do that," she heard Spock's calm cool voice saying. It made her smile to imagine his advice and it was undoubtedly correct.
The noises gradually became quieter and the illogical (but powerful) need to scream faded as well. Her body ceased swinging and only a moaning chorus of mournful noises could be heard.
She opened her eyes, whispered, “Everything will be fine,” and then looked down.
The early morning sun was still low on the horizon causing buildings to cast long dark shadows across the massive parking lot. Dozens of vehicles, including several ambulances, a handful of police cars, and a large yellow-lime green firetruck were parked near an archway in built into the massive wall. All the vehicles appeared to be covered with many months of bird droppings and other types of filth. The archway was a quarter of a mile distant and a few stationary and slow moving people were visible in the shadows. They were shuffling and appeared to occasionally reach out and touch the vehicles. No electric lights were switched on. No smoke was in the air. There was no sign of human life.
Ming trembled and slowly looked down.
A few slightly faster moving people in the shadowy parking lot were staggering toward her position. If she didn't know better Ming might have thought them to be drunks, just as the parking lot probably had in times when the living visited here.
The few meandering drunk-like figures were merging with a crowd that had apparently assembled since her arrival. Her analytical mind estimated each parking space might hold twenty people and there were maybe forty spaces around her, which of course didn't account for those in the traffic lanes. So, figure roughly eight hundred, times two or three. Oh, no, she thought then quickly did the math again.
She tilted her head and realized that the parachute must have gotten tangled in a light pole.
Her body was dangling nearly fifty feet above the pavement.
Ming looked up and saw the improvised parachute was indeed draped over the pole's top.
A few dark lines were visible in the material and she noted they were at the locations between her harness parachute cords and stretched to where they joined the material. “It's ripping. The damn wind blowing me all over the place is causing it to tear.” She whispered then even while watching it the dark lines across the material grew longer and there was a ripping sound.
It's just a matter of time. Maybe it won’t fail for another few minutes or perhaps an hour, but it’s an undeniable scientific fact that sooner or later I'm going to fall into a multitude of hungry ghouls. She realized and struggled not to scream in frustration.
The winds coming in from the North gradually dropped from powerful gusts to little more than a slight breeze. With her body no longer being swung about like a sadistic giant's favorite whirlygig Ming tried to remain motionless. It seemed reasonable to theorize that the more she moved the more strain would cause further tearing of the parachute.
As time passed and the sun rose higher she gingerly turned her head this way and that to take in the surroundings and hopefully spot someone (ANYONE) who might be in the mood to rescue her. Without her body clanging into the aluminum light pole, as it had done before the wind died, she watched as the milling undead appeared to gradually lose interest in her and began meandering away.
The vast majority were still congregated near the pole but almost none looked up at her. They looked at the ground, each other, their rotted skin and hands, and sometimes even bits of trash blowing across the parking lot.
Ming hated litterbugs as a rule. But smiled when a few plastic bags were blown by the breeze like urban tumbleweeds across the pavement and many undead ambled after them. After only twenty minutes she estimated only a quarter of the population remained near her light pole.
More trash please or maybe a few loud birds flapping through, that's all I need to at least have a chance, she thought.
Ming could make out more details regarding the vehicles by the archway in the wall. The firetruck was as dirty and hard to clearly see as the rest but she could make out lettering along its side. It was gold colored and fairly large but after reading it, she shook her head and rubbed her eyes. She looked again and the words CLEVELAND OHIO were plain to see.
She swiveled around and glared at the cartoon-style drawing of Chief Wahoo again and whispered, “No way. There's no frigging way. I can't be in Cleveland. It's just another nightmare. It's got to be.”
Ming shut her eyes and hoped to soon awaken.
The stench of corpses wasn't as pronounced, or perhaps she'd gotten more-or-less used to the stink, but there was another smell. It reminded her of farms and freshly tilled dirt, of crops being grown. She opened her eyes again.
Ming looked left and right but (except for loitering and meandering corpses) everything was deserted.
There were muted clinking noises, as if coming from far away. When the breeze slowed the clinks and tinks were easier to hear, plus she dared hope that the indistinct murmurs could be voices. BUT WHERE ARE THEY!? Ming wondered and again fought down the strong temptation to yell for help.
She stared at the grinning Chief Wahoo painting; specifically it’s friendly looking eyes, and then looked up higher. The wall was approximately the same height as her pole, or more specifically where she was dangling on the pole. The sun was high enough that its light shone into the baseball stadium. She could see row upon row of empty seats, a few darkened private boxes, and a scoreboard. But two other things were visible. The first was easier to discern, the second took longer. Propped against three rows of the seats were several door-size shiny panels that appeared remarkably clean compared to everything else. Connected to each panel there were electrical cords. Solar panels?
She watched as the sunlight struck them. It was blinding. She looked at the second mystery she'd noted. There were long, uniform, rows of tall green plants in both the out and infield and they had absolutely no business being there. Corn? How could corn grow here?
There was a brief electronic whine that echoed across the parking lot before loudspeakers inside the stadium began playing music.
The sound of drums could be heard for several seconds before a woman's voice sang, “Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming-”
Ming watched the corpses wandering toward the stadium walls as the song continued. After several seconds more of the U.S. National Anthem playing her gaze turned back toward the flag. She wasn't aware she was crying until the song reached its end. Ming could see people moving about inside the stadium and she wiped her eyes. They were carrying tools and pushing wheel barrows.
She took a deep breath and was preparing to yell for help when a sudden and very loud continuous tearing sound of the parachute caused her to scream, “Parking lot! HELP!”
William Bebb
Founder of Hands on Productions and Publications- HOPP -William Bebb enjoys basket weaving and spinning tales about tiny aliens, Sasquatch, giant pink rabbits, and, of course zombies.
"I've always enjoyed a well written story or film that involves 'the living impaired', or mores concisely normal folks struggling against the undead. To date, I've savagely pounded my computer keyboard until eight novels vomited out and were placed online. Some are absolutely free, others not, but I'm very proud of all my books. I believe at this time three of them are FREE to download and read. If you enjoy the tales perhaps you'l
l suggest them to your friends...or enemies if you have no friends.
https://sites.google.com/site/hoppublications/home
Life after Consequences
By Bryan Way
12-17-04, FRIDAY
“RUN!” Mallory’s scream carries through gaps between the trees moments before she shoves her pale, willowy frame into Scott. He stumbles, his tired, middle-aged body picking up speed before he slams into a tree hard enough for the trunk to whine. Scott pushes himself off to follow in Mallory’s wake, but the tree wasn’t done. “LOOK OUT!” He shouts. Mallory glances back, diving to the left as the crown splinters into the soil with a shattering rumble, the naked roots splashing moist dirt in the air.
Now prone, Mallory pulls her head out of her hands to see Javier spryly dart over the fallen trunk toward a clearing as his dark, shoulder-length hair shakes out behind him. “Here, here!” He shouts, disappearing through the trees. “Where’s Howard?!” Scott barks, trudging over to Mallory as the dirt stumbles off his jacket. An unmistakable groan rolls through the crisp air, and both of them turn back to see a figure fifty feet behind them, his dark frame only visible through a backdrop of moonlight piercing the thatch of leaves above. To the left of the shape, a pasty, heavy-set man has slumped to the ground breathing heavily. “Come on!” Javier shouts from the distance.
Mallory scrambles to her feet, running back to pull up the wheezing man as Scott ladles a sidekick into the stomach of the shuffling corpse beside him. “Come on Howard… now… come on…” Dragging his feet, Howard pants as Mallory gets her arm under his shoulder and pushes him forward. A moment later, Scott is propping him up from the other side as they practically carry him around the newly uprooted trunk. “Where’s Javi…?” Howard mutters. “There’s a clearing up there…” Scott huffs, wiping the sweat from his dark brow while Mallory looks back to see several amorphous shapes lumbering in the distance. Mallory, Scott, and Howard fall to the ground as they pass the end of the tree line, a waxing crescent moon offering only a teasing backlight through the dense cloud cover.
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 27