All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse

by Various Authors

  When the door buzzed open a blast of cold air greeted Marx sending a chill up is spine. The room was dimly lit and quiet.

  “Jay Dare?” he called moving through walls of small freezers stacked from floor to ceiling. Curiosity got the best of him and he opened the door to one at his eye level. Inside was a body, not just perfectly preserved, but still alive, hooked up to tubes and ventilators. Marx was confused.

  “What is this?” he wondered aloud.

  “It's a graveyard.” Jay's voice made Marx jump and he turned around to see him standing in front of the safe room. Jay walked over and stood across from Marx staring down at the man on the slab whose chest was rising and falling with the rhythm of the machine above his head. “This is what happens to Mountaineers when we die, our bodies go to science, it's the best option.”

  “But this man lives.” Marx's brows drew together.

  “Yes, in a way, his body is being kept alive by our machines, we call it life support, and if we were to discontinue it, he wouldn't be able to sustain his life on his own.”

  “He would die?” For the first time Marx sounded like the child he actually was. Jay nodded.

  “Yeah he would.”

  “What do you keep them for, why so many?” Marx looked up to the top of the gigantic wall in amazement unaware of Jay's slow migration back to the safe cage.

  “How do you think we get the vaccine into someone that has no blood flow ya dip-shit?” Marx turned quickly to see Jay Dare lock himself in the cage with a sinister grin. “You have to put the medicine in the food.” He reached over and hit the code on the side of the steel room and the little light turned from red to green, the door opened and the pens that held the Rehabilitated specimens all opened at once.

  Marx thought about how everyone gets treated as soon as they arrive, the vaccine was in all of them, every citizen of Mount Elbert.

  “Oh shit!” Marx backed quickly toward the exit...

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Mercy is for the Weak

  Vivian woke from her dream excited. Not only because she had a full night's rest, but because she had a dream, a beautiful dream that she was holding a baby. Vivian had been examined and knew that her virginity was intact before last night. It wasn't a memory but it was something, something she wanted to explore... with Marx.

  Vivian flung open her apartment door and raced to the lab to tell him the exciting news. When she got to the lab she was told that he'd gone to a restricted part of the camp with Jay Dare and advised to wait for him to return, so she busied herself with a leisurely walk around the grounds. She sat on a bench in the sprawling gardens enjoying nature and daydreaming of a future that felt so close to becoming a reality. Vivian watched a bee pollinate a flower and thought of how wonderfully essential they were to the survival of the human race and most didn't seem to realize it, or care. Her eyes followed the little bee to the man mowing the grass. She frowned when he swatted it to the ground and kept going.

  A sudden crushing pain in Vivian's head told her that the Rehabilitated people were getting excited, excited in a group feeding sort of way. She found it odd because they were never supposed to be fed in a group, at least that’s what Jay Dare said. She'd only felt the group feed hysteria once since her rebirth and it was because of a worker being careless in the body warehouse, She didn't like how wild it made her feel, almost out of control.

  She thought of Marx and her stomach turned, she was anxious and uneasy as a primal urge forced her to her feet like she was possessed. She ran as fast as her feet would take her, she ran to the body warehouse. The closer she got, the stronger the feeling became.

  There was a security guard in the front of the lot that she'd seen from a mile away so she approached from the back of the silo, her humanity flaking away like the paint of a dilapidated building, her inner dilapidation was beginning to show.

  The metal door was little match for Vivian in this state, it had only taken her a few solid tugs to snatch it open and sound the alarm.

  “Jay Dare? Marx?” she had become frantic, she could feel the Rehabilitated hoarding together feeding, she could feel Marx's anguish and will to live as the life drained from his body.

  “Stop!” she commanded them aloud, and to Jay's surprise they did. They stopped before the meal was cold and that was something that was unheard of.

  “Get away from him!” she snapped and they began to back away. Vivian rushed to his side. His throat had been ripped out, bubbles rising in the thick liquid that pooled in his esophagus. Most of his fingers were gone, his entrails ruptured and swelling out of his abdomen. “Marx?” Vivian whimpered and kissed his blood covered lips. She pushed his hair away from his face. “Please don't leave me.” Tears poured from her eyes and rained over his face. It was more emotion than Jay Dare had ever seen from one of the Rehabilitated.

  Vivian stared into Marx's eyes, the signature gray of a Ryder Royal, his long dark lashes wet with tears, he stared back at her for the seconds that followed until the translucent cloud of death glazed over those eyes and her heart ached as if it were caving in on itself.

  Vivian turned her gaze to the beasts that stood waiting, their mouths and fingers dripping with the life's blood of the man she loved, still she didn't hate them, she couldn't, and they were but wooden soldiers, the weapons of war. She then directed her glare to the brain, will of the command who hid cowardly in the safe box, steel bars between them.

  “I had to terminate him for fucking government property.”

  “You don't own me Jay.” she spoke softly

  “Yeah actually we do, we made you, you're all property of the United States government.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “It is.” he pushed the thick black rim glasses up on his nose.

  “You only owned what I allowed you to own. Now it's over. Kill him.” she ordered. “Kill them all.” Vivian stood and scooped Marx into her arms as if she were merely lifting a kitten. Jay Dare's blue eyes became large as he witnessed it. The Rehabilitated specimens snapped and snarled at him and he laughed backing away from the bars.

  “I've got time assholes, I can stay here all night, I can stay here for as long as it takes!”

  ***

  As Shannon submerged yet another batch of French fries into the deep fryer, an alarm sounded sharply through the air.

  Alert. Alert, this is not a test. Please engage your emergency lockdown systems; this is a level red security breach. I repeat level red security breach.” Shannon looked to her manager who stood stunned for a moment.

  “Level red, what the hell is that?” she asked.

  “Jamie, get the gate!” he pointed to the larger opening that lead out into the facility shopping area. The girl was fifteen years old and clearly frightened out of her mind. Her eyes sat globes of terror on her face. “OH my God, they're coming.”

  “Jamie!” the manager stepped in front of her and punched in the code below her register. The steel gate began to lower then halted half way down. Shannon backed away slowly toward the freezer.

  ***

  Luis engaged the emergency lock down after having all the prisoners get to their cells.

  “Hey fella, you can't just leave us in here like this, we need to be able to defend ourselves should somethin' happen ta ya.” one of the men pleaded. Luis thought of Shannon, he wondered how she was fairing. He thought of Frankie.

  “Worry not Inmate, this place is likely the safest of all places to be right now.”

  “Damn straight,” the head jailer agreed. “I'm sure it'll all be over in a minute, we got a hellovah good team of soldiers out there who train day and night for this shit.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. Luis stared through the bars of the window. He needed to find his family.

  ***

  Axle rushed over to the school to retrieve Emery whom he'd seen off only two hours earlier. He had tried to walkie Shannon, but she was not answering. He was beginning to smell a very familiar and unwelcomed aroma, the th
ickening stench of the dead. He saw soldiers firing on them in the distance and they kept coming, marksmen were delivering headshots and still they came. Axle had seen ghosts up close and battled them many a day in the past, he was sure that these were not them.

  He reached the school house only to find it locked down. Axle beat the doors and screamed for Emery until they opened and a small hand pulled him in by his collar. Axle lost his bearings and fell inside as the woman stepped over him and locked the chain on the doors.

  “What the fuck are you doing out there during a level red emergency? You trying to get your ass chewed off?” She snapped.

  “My Child, I search for my child, where is he?”

  The woman helped him to his feet. “What's his name?” she asked locking all the window gates.

  “Emery White.”

  “Room five.” she pointed him the way and he ran as fast as he could. “Emery!” Axle flung the door open and scanned the little faces. His breath hitched when he saw that Emery was not among them.

  ***

  Vivian packed the dirt feverishly on top of one of the raised garden beds outside of the condominiums, her eyes swollen from grief. She sat on the edge of it when she was done and watched as the so called Rehabilitated overran the base camp Military. The Mountain made them better, better thinkers, better problem solvers, better killers. They used sticks and rocks to break car windows; some used their sight to guide others. Rejuvenated eardrums zoned in on swiftly beating hearts that tried to hide.

  Vivian watched the boy cross the parking lot untouched, because she had ordered it so. They were her horde and she was their Queen. He ran to her worried.

  “ Vivian, Vivian!” She stood and wrapped him in her arms. “Have you seen Marx?” he cried and she rocked him. “Don't be scared, nothing is going to hurt you. I'll never let them hurt you.” His brows drew together confused.

  He trembled as the ghost moved around them. “Why are they not coming after us?” he asked, She stooped down and looked into his serious gray eyes that reminded her so much of Marx it hurt.

  “Because I don't want them to, and they're never going to try and hurt you again. Okay?”

  He nodded, but his expression remained the same. “Why is this happening?” he whispered.

  Vivian stood up and looked around at the carnage she'd created. “Man thinks he can have it all, the world and everything in it belongs to him, that we all exist for his pleasure. To be enjoyed and discarded at his whim. It's time for a reality check. We were made to consume the flesh of man and we're evolving faster than anyone can imagine. We're Apex predators, and I think it's time now to find out who's the fittest.”

  Vivian felt the surge of the horde inside her like a heartbeat. The need, the hunt, the feed, relief. They in turn could feel her will, her heartache, her wrath and longing for revenge.

  She looked back at the garden bed kissing her fingers and pressing them to the dirt. “Until we meet again my love.”

  “Last night I dreamed I was a Queen, and my King, rather from wishful thinking or not, was my beautiful Marx. He was as much a Ghost as I once was, and our Kingdom was a kingdom of the dead. I swear I was more alive in those moments than ever I had been in this new life. To my breast I held a child, our child, he was alive and he was not, he possessed a power that even I don't understand and in my heart I know he's going to be our savior, and together we will rain hell's fire on what remains of the living and forge the way for a new world, a better world.”

  --Vivian

  DD VanGarde

  DD VanGarde is an apprentice Furniture designer/Restorer from Chicago Illinois. She attended Columbia College Chicago for Fiction and Screen writing and when she's not woodworking, writing is her passion.

  DD runs a horror blog called "The VanGarde Review" where she reviews the books of other independent authors. She's currently working on the novel version of her short story "Restoration"

  Visit DD's blog at www.thevangardereview.weebly.com

  Welcome To The Jungle.

  By Wayne Hills.

  Private First Class August ‘Auggie’ O’Neil, died three times before his mandatory discharge from the UAA, The United Affiliated Army.

  The first time was on a reconnaissance patrol during the war for uncontaminated water in Southeast Asia, more commonly referred to as NAM2. Their fanatical enemy was made up of humans—who set ambushes for the UAA engineers as they tried to maintain the well pumps—and the more terrifying Prior-fighters—humans who in their prior lives, had died in battle against UAA soldiers, or the more fervent, by their own hands.

  Auggie had been in-country for less than a month but he still couldn’t handle the oppressive heat—the air so thick upon waking he thought he’d suffocate. The mere act of breathing caused him to break into a sweat. The dog-tags and silver cross around his neck felt as if they were fusing into his skin, the chains itched as they rubbed moist grit into his neck.

  The morning arrived with an unusually crisp dawn. Auggie had spent the previous three weeks acclimating to the jungle by cleaning latrines and clearing the dead-traps set around the camp’s boundaries. The lack of humidity on the morning of his first foray beyond the pits and spikes, set to deter the motivated dead from encroaching upon their encampment, made Auggie uneasy.

  He joined an experienced squad on that morning’s recon mission. Along with Sergeant Walker were Auggie’s fellow jarheads: ‘Nevada’ Bill Evans, Bob ‘BB’ Ballony, and Rich Starkey. All were veterans of multiple tours and were happy to share a common saying they reserved for newbies’: "If you can't spot the fresh meat on a patrol, it's you."

  An hour into the dense foliage surrounding their base, they entered a small clearing. Strewn about the field of burnt and flattened grass they found the unmistakable signs of a skirmish: shallow pits with wilted vegetation around the impact crater—evidence of a plasma-based grenade, saplings along the edge of the field appeared to have exploded from within—caused by explosive-tipped bullets. Bits of uniforms, both the familiar grey/black camo of their UAA colors, and the enemy's dark-green—almost black—‘pajamas’ lay scattered around the clearing as if placed to look random. Most of the larger pieces still contained body parts. A few of them twitched.

  The Sgt. barked at his men, "Lock and load, ladies."

  Auggie flicked the safety of his regulation M-E35 combat rifle to the off position, changing the magnetic-force-propulsion weapon’s internal electronics from standby to ready-to-fire. His magazine contained the standard patrol ammo of a combination of MRSA and explosive-tipped rounds. Both were 5.56 mm caliber magni-bullets. The MRSA tip had a modified strain of the flesh-eating virus engineered to dissolve skin and tissue, human or otherwise. The other, nicknamed ‘pop-tips’ by the men, had a built-in explosive charge designed to burrow and detonate inches below the surface of whatever it hit.

  When your foe was already dead, you had to learn to be creative.

  The enemy’s munitions designers were no less inventive. Their bullets weren’t designed to be lethal; they were meant to instill terror in the people who opposed their ideologies. The hollow slugs were made from a hardened plastic that melted when it came into contact with flesh above 37.0 Celsius—the temperature of a living human. The cavity contained a small dose of Curare, a toxin used to immobilize prey, left the target awake, in pain, and completely paralyzed. The victim, unable to fight back while the undead enemy soldier feeds upon their brain while it’s still active, able to feel every bite from the sharpened teeth of the attacker.

  The enemy, an army of resurrected zealots, had been hyper-trained in their prior lives to kill UAA soldiers. The memory of how to fight, and who to kill, ingrained into them before they sacrificed themselves in an elaborate ceremony involving slicing open of their own chests, and inserting of a piece of flesh from a fallen comrade. Their beliefs taught them that killing men like Auggie was a sacred duty.

  Sgt. Walker pulled Auggie away from the group, “Chances are pretty good we'll come ac
ross a zip-heart or two. Keep your eye’s wide, son. They’ll be close."

  The Sergeant’s tone reminded Auggie of his father’s lessons back home when the outbreak of the undead began. His dad taught Auggie how to hunt and kill the Prior-humans that had overrun the world a decade earlier.

  After the initial outbreak, the ensuing chaos made it necessary for people to learn how to defend themselves. They banded into militias to protect their homes and each other. Before Auggie’s mother had been dissected for her usable body parts, and his father was repurposed to serve in his role as a Prior-butcher, Auggie was taught how to track and eliminate the threat posed by the resurrected.

  Auggie’s father had told him, “Most people go for the head-shot, for the brain, but I’ve seen them survive that. They don’t see very well, they smell with their tongues following our heat, like a snake. Aim for the mouth. Take it out and they can’t find you. You’ll also remove their only real weapon, their teeth.”

  Auggie had killed dozens in his town, a hundred more in the surrounding woods. He shot his Prior-neighbor, Mr. Macek, as he clambered through Auggie’s bedroom window. Auggie killed his Prior-classmate, Jimmy Johnson. They had been in Cub Scouts together. Their friendship ended with a bullet to Jimmy’s skull. The world’s scientists hadn’t yet learned how to control the bloodthirsty risen. Back in the relative safety of his homeland, the Priors weren’t shooting back.

  When the war came to claim clean water for their allies, Auggie volunteered to fight. He saw it as his civic duty to protect the lives of his countrymen. Even if it meant depriving some other third world countrymen from saving the lives of their families.

  Sgt. Walker scanned the edge of the field for movement. "This hasn't been sterilized. Our brothers are still lying here for maggot food." Pulling his Bowie-knife out of its sheath, he flipped over a scrap of charred uniform near his foot. It had Prior meat attached to it. He studied it on the ground, then stabbed it with the tip of his knife and lifted it to Auggie.