by Bryan Mosier
With a new found enthusiasm the four young adventurers race out the door, their expectations of delicious food stuffs overcoming their innate disdain of the outside world.
“All right all right all right, show me the good stuff. Point me to the BBQ” says Bryan.
“Oh man, I am so hungry I could eat…um…uhh” stammers Brandon, stopping in his tracks.
Seizing the moment, the three elder boys gather around their young compadre. Feeling the need to offer up encouragement after his earlier failed attempt at humor in the boys cheer Brandon on.
“Come on you can do it. Make it a good one” says Justin.
“Okay, um, uh I am so hungry that…I could eat…..I could eat the fat off a pig’s ass?”
Giving the youngster a derisive look, Bryan declares,“Dude, that was totally lame. Try again.”
“Okay, um…I’m so hungry I could…I could eat the jelly of a can of moldy Spam?” offers Brandon.
“Aw dude, that’s just gross.”
“Yeah, really, that’s the best you got?”
“Come on dude, how are you ever gonna deliver a proper verbal smack down like yours truly when you be bringing that kinda weak teato the table?” says Bryan, leaning back and wrapping himself in an arrogant thug hug.
“What, you can’t do any better” says Alex coming to his little brother’s defense.
“Yeah, let’s see what you got, sucka” says Brandon with the new found confidencestemming from his brother’s back up.
“Okay, let’s see here. I am so hungry I could…eat the stank… offa…yo momma’s ass, and laaaawwwhd knows that couldto feed an army.”
“Oh, nice one” says Justin,“I think we have a winner.”
“I have to admit that was pretty good” says Alex, consoling his little brother with a pat on the back.
“And the insult impresario does it again” says Bryan with his hands raised in mock victory.
“Definite verbal violation” declares Justin in agreement.
Hands still raised high overhead, Bryan wrinkles his nose and asks“Hey, anybody smell that?”
“Doorknob!” yells Brandon in accusation as a foul odor begins to permeate the air.
“Yeah, what is that? Smells like something crawled up somebody’s butt and died. One of you cut one?”
With no one willing to claim ownership of the offensive odor, they all look around for the source of the malodorous offender. Suddenly they notice that they have inexplicably become the center of attention as everyone in the assembled crowd now seems to be looking their way. With slow, deliberate steps the group begins to walk towards the four oblivious wanderers.
“Dude, what the hell? Why does everyone look like shit?” asks Bryan.
“Dude, is that Mr. Ferguson. What happened to his face?”
As Mr. Ferguson comes closer, a startled realization falls over the foursome. Looking at what should be the face of their jolly neighborthey’ve known for most of their lives, famous for his superb BBQ skills and not so secret collection of Latin fetish porn, they see instead a shriveled face, its gray mottled skin riddled with the distinctive white, wriggling forms of maggots. Its mouth wide, the only sound coming from its gaping maw is a dry wheezing groan. As the boys stand staring into its undead eyes, seemingly aflame with a deep red glow. Frozen in fear they stand their taking in the scene as each figure, a person whom they have lived among and known for their entire lives comes closer revealing an image of rot and decay, each with the same fiery red eyes burning their image deep into their brains, an image that contradicts everything that these four youngsters have ever known about the world.
“OH SHIT! THEY’RE FUCKING ZOMBIES!” shouts Alex.
In a singular collective gasp of exasperatedterror, they find only one word to express what they are all feeling. “FUUUUUUCK!”
Chapter 3
“Back to the house, now!” yells Alex, turning to see the others already halfway back down the concrete walkway running towards the door.
As the petrified foursome crashes through the front door and franticly begins barring it with any and every piece of furniture they can find a sudden calm comes over Alex.
Slamming a tattered brown and darker brown plaid ottoman onto the already chest high pile, Alex pauses to catch his breath to let the reality of the moment set in. “Oh my god. Everyone we know out there is a fucking zombie. We are living in the zombie apocalypse. We might actually be the only people alive on the planet.”
“Statistically that isimprobable” begins Justin. “Even in a worst case scenario with a pandemic producing a 99.9 percent mortality rate, with the current worldwide population of approximately seven and a half billion people that would still allow for an estimated population of survivors in the neighborhood of seven-hundred thousand people, give or take. In the tri-state area alone we could expect to see at least several hundred toas much as a thousand survivors.”
As the other three pause to take in the situation it is the youngest of their group that puts into words what they are all thinking.
“Freaking AWESOME!”
As the euphoria of living out the plot of one of their most beloved movie genres washesover them, a somber look falls over Alex’s face. In a sober voice he says,“Damn, I guess it was end of the world sex.”
“On that note, might I suggest we now implement our designated plan of action for just such an occasion” offers Justin.
Taking a deep breath and giving Justin a nod of agreement Alex takes a moment to look each member of the group in the eye. “Okay everyone…Zombie plan alpha is in effect” Get your gear and suit up boys, its go time.”
With the command given each member of the group fans out to different areas of the house. It is Alex, rushing into his bedroom who first retrieves his stash of post-apocalyptic survival paraphernalia. Dropping to his knees, Alex reaches deep underneath his bed to retrieve an expertly hidden box. Pulling the dusty container from its hiding place he quickly wipes off the thick layer of dust and dog hair to reveal a crudely hand written label scrawled across the crumpled lid. “Codename Romero!” he whispers to himself, both thrilled and terrified by the notion of actually living this moment. Tearing away the patchwork of silver duct tape used to secure the container Alex pulls the lid from the box and dumps the contents onto the laminate faux wood floor. With a clatter of plastic, wood and metal an assortment of protective sporting gear falls to the floor in front of him. Looking over the pile Alex thinks back to the myriad sports that his dad tried, ultimately in vain, to get him to develop an interest in. The catcher’s mask from baseball, the shin guards from soccer, even the nine iron from golf, a last ditch effort at some type of physical activity. Snapping the last clasp of his shin guard, now fully decked out in his eclectic ensemble of zombie survival gear, Alex stops for a moment to look in the mirror to admire his handiwork. With a proud smile he looks his reflected self in the eye and calmly declares,“Groovy!”
Coming back into the living room Alex is happy to see that Justin and Bryan both have successfully retrieved their respective compliments of zombie survival gear. Mostly consisting of similar protective sportswear items Alex notes some other not so similar variations, most unique of them being Bryan’s baseball bat, scarily modified with several very large silvery nails driven through the end. Looking over each other’s accoutrement of weapons and gear, Justin and Alex take pause, noting something particularly peculiar with Bryan’s attire. Scanning him from head to toe they find a notable addition, a not so subtle bulge in his pants. As Justin and Alex take in the image a sense of confusion and amusement falls over their faces.
“Uh, dude, what the hell is that?”
“What’s what?”
“That, in your pants.”
“What d’yamean, it’s a cup.”
“I know what it is but why the hell are you wearing it?”
“I ain’ttakin no chances. I sure as hell don’t wanna go out getting bit on the wangby some crazed, fleshed starved zombie chic.”
“You couldn’t get a girl to put her face anywhere near your crotch all through high school, what makes you think ones gonna try now with the world coming to an end?” says Alex.“And what makes you think it’ll be a girl that goes chompy chomp on your little winky winky.”
“Besides, if a zombie is really hungry I figure they are going to need a more substantialmeal than that” adds Justin with a chuckle.
“Laugh it up all you want but we’ll see whose laughing when one of you end up a stinking member of the walking dickless.”
At that moment Brandon rejoins the group and to the utter amazement of the three senior members, the youngest of their group has done quite well for himself. Decked out from head to toe in full, molded plastic body armor he presents the perfect model of readiness in zombie defense. From his visored helmet, thick plastic neck and chest protector, heavy duty plastic armor plating on both his upper and lower arms and legs as well as protective gloves all on top of a padded camouflage printed body suit of durable lightweight waterproof nylon, he appears to be completely protected from any type of potential melee attack. The only aberration in his ensemble is the very prominent katana that awkwardly hangs form his hip, the tip dragging the floor behind him.
“Where the hell did you get that get up?” asks Alex in amazement.
“Yeah man, you look like you could take on a whole mess of zombies without a scratch.”
“Dude, this is my paintball outfit?”
“Paintball, why the hell did I notthink of that?” asks Justin, giving himself a hard slap on the forehead.
“Because you’re too damn lazy to play paintball, that’s why” says Bryan.
“Touche…toucheindeed’”
“What about the sword, where the hell did that come from?”
“Ebay” comes the matter of fact response.
“Ebay? How the hell did you order a freaking sword off of Ebay?”
“Easy, I used dad’s creditcard.”
As they stand in dumbfounded silence, the group begins to take stock of their situation. Alone in a house without any food and surrounded by the animated undead remains of their friends and neighbors a startling realization comes over each of them, one finally verbalized by Alex.
“We can’t stay here. We have to find food.”
“But the house is surrounded by undead freaks who want to take a bite out of our asses” declares Bryan.
“I know but we won’t last long without food.”
“But how do we get out of here? ZOMBIES…OUTSIDE…REMEMBER?” declares a vexed Bryan.
Suddenly, Alex joltswith excitement. “I got it, the garage.”
“What about it”
“Dad’s old Chevy, it’s in the garage”
“He hasn’t started that car in months, it probably won’t even run”
“You got a better idea?”
As they sit in silence it becomes obvious that a better plan will not be forthcoming anytime soon and that the garage is their best chance for immediate escape.
“One problem. The garage is like fifty feet away. Fifty feet of zombie infested death. How the hell are we gonnaget over there?”
“That is a bit of a problem.“
“Might I offer a suggestion?” asks Justin.
“You might indeed” replies Alex, mimicking Justin’s mechanical tone.
“Might we consider some type of diversionary tactic to avert the zombie horde’s flesh eating lust elsewhere so that we might make our way to the sanctuary of the garage.”
“EXCELLENT idea! But, um, what kind of distraction are you talking about. It’s not like we’ve got a lot to work with in here.”
“Well, knowing what we do about the typical zombies’ lust for human flesh” offers Justin,“the only thing that is going toreally draw their attention is a potential meal.”
“Meaning….?”
“One of us will have to try to draw their attention”
“NOT IT!” says Bryan quickly placing the tip of his index finger on his nose.
“NOT IT!” exclaims Justin doing the same.
‘NOT IT!” declares Alex completing the ritual.
“Well, I guess that just leaves Brandon” says Bryan looking at Brandon he adds “S.T.B.Y.”
“S.T.B.Y.?” asks the youngster.
“Sucks To Be You”.
“Really, you’re gonna send a kid out there with a bunch of freaking zombies” pleads Brandon. “As bait! What kind of douche bags are you? Where’s the decency, the humanity, the compassion for the little guy?”
“This is the zombie apocalypse. The definition of humanity just got rewritten and compassion and decency went the way of the dodo. Besides, you’re the one with the best gear. Ain’t no zombie gonna even be able to lay a finger on you.”
“You guys suck, you know that. You really, really suck.”
Chapter 4
“Hey you maggot sucking freaks, up here!” yells Brandon from the flaking charcoal gray shingled roof top covering the front porch of the house. “What’s the matter, can’t reach me huh. Hah, you ain’tso scary” declares the defiant youth as he feels his foot slip slightly on the asphalt shingles, sending a cautionary expression over his face.
As Brandon begins his berating taunts of the undead masses surrounding the house, the commotion begins to have the desired effect. As he continues his rant, more and more of his undead neighbors start to make their way to the front of the house. Seeing this the other three members of their would be zombie survivalist group slowly peek out the side door.
“Okay, I think the coast is clear. I don’t see any of them on this side of the house.”
With that the trio begins to slowly creep out the door and begin making their way towards the garage. With their tennis shoes crunching on the loose limestone gravel of the driveway separating the house from the garage Alex, Bryan and Justin quickly scurry out into the open space of the driveway, careful to not make any unnecessary noise.
“C’mon you ugly pieces of butt rot! What’s the matter can’t even come up after a little kid? You ain’t shit!” With this sudden accidental eruption of profanity Brandon instinctively clams up, clamping his hand hard over his mouth, as if he just did something wrong and can expect a suitable punishment in no short order. But with the realization that there is no one around to hear him other than his undead audience he thinks to himself,“It’s the apocalypse, whose gonnacare…c’mon you sorry, rotten mother fu…”
“Okay just ten yards and were there. See, I told you the plan would work.”
“Do you guys here that?” asks Bryan. “What the hell is he saying?”
“My god, he has a worse mouth than a hardened seaman” declares Justin.
Pointing to the corner of Justin’s mouth Bryan can’t let such an easy softball go by,“Speaking of hardened…, you got a little something…”
“You are a horrible person you know that. Just horrible.”
Finally arriving at the door of the garage, Alex kneels down taking a moment to sneak a peek through the dusty glass of the door’s solitary single paned window. Satisfied that the garage is empty he places his hand on the door knob and gently begins to twist.
“Oh Shit!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Its fucking locked!”
“Locked! Why the fuck is it locked?”
“I don’t know, Dad’s got a lot of stuff in there. Maybe he’s afraid someone might steal it.”
“Well what do we do now?”
“We gottago back and get the key.”
“Where is the key?” asks Justin in a tone mixed with frustration and fear.
“It should be hanging on the hook by the kitchen door. Just wait right here and I’ll go get it” says Alex.
“Wait here. Sure, why the hell not. It’s not like we have anything to worry about, like, say you know a FREAKING ZOMBIE HORDE right around the corner.”
Alex, walking slowly but with determination, quietly leaves Bryan and Justin to go b
ack to the house to retrieve the key. As they see him enter the house they hear an audible rustling from around the corner of the garage. Poking their heads around the corner they see nothing more than a pile of empty trash cans, their contents spilled out onto the limestone gravel. “Probably….probably just a raccoon or something” says Bryan, trying to convince himself as much toease Justin’s mind. Suddenly the pile of trash cans shifts violently, as if something contained inside was now trying to escape one of the overturned aluminum canisters.
“What the fuck!”
“I do believe there issomething in the garbage can.”
“No shit Sherlock” says Bryan as the pile of trash shifts once more.
“Fuck!!! A zombie, kill it!”
As Bryan inches forward lifting his baseball bat over his head, preparing to bring the nail studded weapon down hard on the unseen threat, a garbage can lurches forward further spilling its contents on the ground giving both Justin and Bryan a fright.
Dropping the bat to the ground and running back around the corner of the garage“AHHHH, its coming at me. Get it, get it. AAHHHHHH!!”
Coweringin fear, huddled together awaiting the inevitable, they hear“Aw Virgil, I was wandering where you were. What’re you guys doing?”
Bryan and Justin looking up see Alex standing over them holding a small black and white Boston terrier, the family pet.
“Virgil? VIRGIL! “I’msogladtoseeyouandthatyou’renotacrazyzombiethatwasgonnachewonmycerebellum.”
“Uh, oooooo…kaaay…, let’s just get in the garage” says Alex, dangling the key from his index finger.
Alex quietly unlocks the door and slowly turns the nob, trying not to make any noise. Cautiously pushing the door open a few inches they peek inside. The room is dark and musty with clutter filling the hodge-podge collection of homemade wooden shelves that line every wall of the room. In the middle of the room sits a large powder blue automobile, a 1974 Chevy Monte Carlo, covered in a thick layer of dust, professing to its obvious long term neglect.
“Dude, that thing is never gonnarun” declares Bryan, the sound of defeat resonating in his voice.