The first of the two climbing ghouls turned to look toward the intruding sound. The blade of the wooden hockey stick slapped the dead thing across its mouth. It howled and spit teeth as Cass zoomed past, spinning around at the end of the aisle and returning for another pass.
“What the hell are you doing, Cass?” Lenny managed to kick free of the second dead girl and climb to the next shelf. He pushed boxes of toys out of his away to accommodate his body on the narrow shelving.
“Saving your ass!” She sped by a second time. Hooking the blade of the hockey stick beneath the first ghoul’s chin, at the speed she was traveling she was able to completely sever the head from the body. A spraying torrent of black blood and bits spewed from the neck stump with volcanic force. The body jerked around, losing balance on the roller skates and fell to the floor where it kicked spasmodically until it completely bled out.
The head turned several times in the air. It flew up far enough so it was momentarily eye to eye with Lenny on the top shelf of the aisle. The dead thing looked right at him and snarled but then gravity went to work and tugged the airborne head to the ground. When it hit it exploded like an egg, the skull cracking and the skin going gooey like melting wax.
A cold hand grasped at Lenny’s foot.
“The other one, Cass!”
There was no time for another pass and the ghoul was higher than the first. The hockey stick would never reach it.
Dismounting the bike, Cass adjusted the football helmet, pushed her glasses up and took one of the baseballs from the satchel tied to her waist. Calling upon her years of pitching high school softball, she took time to eye the target.
“Stop dicking around, Cass, and do something!”
She fired a fastball. Any announcer would report they saw smoke coming off the tail of the ball. It was hard, fast and traveled directly where she was looking. She cursed that Lenny had distracted her.
The ball smacked Lenny right in the left eye. His world went white then red. The shock of the fastball to the face knocked him off balance. He fell from of the racking like a wooden milk jug being knocked over in a carnival pitch game.
“Oops!”
The other ghoul jumped down to where Lenny landed. He was rolling around, holding his eye and calling Cass names that rhymed with “witch,” “sucker” and “hunt.”
“Hey, Fugly!”
When the dead thing looked up, Cass fired another fastball. Upon impact the ghoul’s head seemed to detonate, exploding in a tropical rainstorm of black blood, bits and brains. On its feet for a moment, it seemed to dance a little two-step as chunks of dead derby girl continued to rain down. At last, like a deflated balloon, it dropped empty to the ground next to the other.
“Come on.” She helped pull Lenny to his feet. He was covered in gore.
“You blinded me.” He was still holding his eye.
“Let me see.”
“Get the hell away from me.” He turned his head away.
“Quit being a baby.” She touched his shoulder and turned him to face her.
He looked pissed. His eye was swelling shut.
“Move your hand. Can you open it?”
Barely able to open it, what was exposed of his eyeball was watery and red, like every blood vessel had been shattered.
“Close it, close it.” She looked sick to her stomach. The peanut butter and celery sandwich she had for lunch was threatening to make a guest appearance from her gut.
“Is it that bad?” His voice cracked and he sounded pathetic.
“Um, you know, it’ll get better. I think. We probably need to get some ice for it. You need an eye patch.”
“Where in the hell am I gonna find a frickin’ eye patch, genius?”
On the nearby racking was a roll of Was/Now Clearance stickers. She peeled one of the large labels from the roll and gently placed it over his swollen eye.
“Good as new,” she said with a smile.
“I hate you.”
“I saved your life.”
Rather than say what he wanted to say, he said, “What the hell’s wrong with them?” He motioned toward the bodies on the floor.
“They’re the undead. Zombies.”
“They’re what?”
“Oh, come on. Look around, Lenny. They’re cold and obviously dead. They’re eating people. This is classic text book zombie mayhem. George Romero has been warning us about them for four decades.” Crouching at the nearest body she touched the skin around the ruined head. The flesh was spongy.
“Their skin is really soft. I think they’re melting. Maybe whatever turned them all “bitey” doesn’t give them a very long shelf life.”
“And what movie are you basing this lamebrain hypothesis on, Dr. Destructo?”
“You ever see someone’s head explode because of a baseball? That wooden hockey blade cut through the other ghoul like a machete. It cut through the bone. Do you find any of that in the least bit normal? Maybe they start to disintegrate if they don’t feed fast enough. It’s anybody’s guess. All I know is we’ve got to stop them.”
“Stop them? You stop them. I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“Aren’t you Employee of the Month material all of a sudden? Jeez, Lenny. Just stick with me.”
A scream from a co-worker being attacked in a nearby aisle cracked the air like thunder.
With one fluid moment, she slid both baseball bats from their Velcro straps and held them like a samurai warrior brandishing his sword. In her best impression of her favorite actor in the world, Bruce Campbell, she said, “I’m dressed for prom, baby.” She clicked the bats together. “And momma’s ready to dance!”
Picking up the hockey stick, hoping what she said about the creatures’ shelf life was correct, Lenny reluctantly followed behind her with a sigh.
* * *
Two of the dead derby girls were in a tug-of-war with Denny Martin. Denny was screaming hysterically, his arms already pulled from their sockets and threatening to be ripped free of his body. The ghoul girls were tugging ferociously, like lions ripping at a downed gazelle.
“Hey, fuglies!”
Startled, the ghouls looked up in time to see the twin bats swinging. Cass was working the bats like a master chef works his cutlery. First the wooden bat, then the aluminum, came crashing down on the skulls of the dead derby girls like she was playing some obscene drum solo in a concert of pain and mutilation.
When their skulls were cracked open, twin volcanic spews erupted. One of the ghouls even had the explosive bile spraying from its eye sockets, ears, mouth and nose.
The dead girls banged into one another until they were empty and fell lifelessly to the gore spattered floor.
“You’re okay now, Denny,” she said in a calm voice.
Denny looked at her a moment like he was witnessing Martians landing on his front lawn. When he opened his mouth to speak all that came out was a labored, painful howl of excruciating pain associated with having one’s arms wrenched from their sockets. Eyes wide, like a madman, he screamed at the top of his lungs. Suddenly, in mid-scream, he took off running down the aisle, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides. Continuing to scream he cut around the corner and ran out of sight.
“Uh, he’ll be okay. Come on.” She charged the next creature. It was pulling Eddie’s intestines out through a hole in his abdomen and chewing savagely into them. She brought the wooden bat around, swiping the dead thing’s legs out from under it. While it was flat on its back, Lenny stepped in. Using the hockey stick like an axe, he chopped at the downed derby girl. Each new hole in the dead thing’s body spewed a forceful spray of black blood and chunks. It was like popping a zit. He stood in the middle of the gore geysers until the thing stopped moving.
Following the screams, Cass was off to save the next terrified co-worker being attacked. She fired another baseball with deadly accuracy, punching a hole through the ghoul gal’s midsection. The re-animated corpse that had once been Fantastic Frances Valentine didn’t even h
ave time to look down before her guts exploded through both sides of the sucking wound tunneling through her.
Cass and Lenny continued chopping, looping, cutting and hammering until the last of the ghouls was little more than a grotesque puddle of black snot. Some of the others joined in, but practice was making perfect and Cass was offing the ghouls with one well placed shot to the head.
One of the last ghouls to be exterminated actually tried to get away before it was snuffed. Cass saw the dead thing rolling past the front end of the aisle making its way to the front door. Firing the last baseball in her satchel, she picked the creature off with an expertly delivered shot, knocking the thing off balance as its head exploded like an egg in the microwave.
“Was that all of them?” It was Harold Helman who spoke. He was in charge of the infants’ toys section.
“I think so,” Cass responded, taking off the football helmet. No one else said a word. She waited a minute for them to hoist her up on their shoulders and walk her around for saving the day, but that moment never came. Finally she started taking off all the pads. Her moment was over.
* * *
By the time the police arrived, whatever had been of the Roanoke Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Babes was little more than grease smears on the floor. Foul black pools covered the floor. When they started asking questions, all fingers pointed to Cass. The detective on the case and two uniformed officers escorted her to a patrol car. The entire way she talked about the living dead and how they exploded and that they had to be killed. Detective Simmons shuddered inwardly at the mountain of paperwork this case was going to produce.
* * *
Somewhere deep inside the brain of the thing that was once Anton Phibes, a small enough fragment worked, comprehending and making decisions. The dead thing had successfully overridden the compound’s security system. Now, all of the people affected by the 44-45 Dioxin were wandering into the chilly winter night. They scoured the empty city streets, searching out human flesh for sustenance.
If the dead thing that had been Dr. Phibes witnessed the attack on the Toyland Castle of Smiles, he would have absolutely found the exercise to have been a complete failure on the grandest scale. The creatures had barely been exposed to the 44-45 Dioxin. Their bodies had not gone through the entire metamorphosis. Their skins were too soft, the chemical make-up of their bodies was volatile and the flesh they consumed did not make them stronger. They would never make it on the battlefield.
But the creatures from the compound roaming the night had fully benefited from full exposure to the 44-45 Dioxin. Their skin was thick, like a shell. After the initial bleed out period, their bodies had stabilized. To a limited degree, they still had use of their brain functions. They were not mindless creatures. All their senses were enhanced.
The dead thing that was once Dr. Phibes detected the scent of living flesh ever so mildly on the chilly night wind. The others followed, instinctively knowing he was their leader.
Around the corner was the Joyful Bread Company. The smell of living flesh set their senses aflame and drove them forward.
Story Art Cover
By Lindsay Babroski
www.mousetamerdesignz.com
Dedication
To Tony’s foster brother, Bradley Raymond
Author Bio
Tony Faville is the author of zombie novel Kings of the Dead. He has served in the US Navy, worked as an IT Guru for Nike and also spent several years working as a professional Chef. Tony currently resides in Portland, Oregon with his wife, two dogs and a cat. Together with his wife they enjoy shooting, movies, cooking and preparing for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. www.TonyFaville.com
Heather Faville is the creator of, www.doubleshotreviews.com a book review blog focusing on the horror genre with the occasional foray into other genre. She has a Bachelors of Science in Education and taught Kindergarten for 10 years before moving on to other endeavors. Heather lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband, Tony Faville, author of Kings of the Dead, two dogs and cat.
A Christmas Wish
By Tony & Heather Faville
The doors to the emergency room slid open as the two weary paramedics pushed the gurney into the area. Strapped down to a board on the gurney was a woman covered in blood with multiple lacerations over most of her body.
One of the paramedics started calling out her information, “We have a thirty-six year old female, post MVA, massive chest trauma, tension pneumothorax of the left lung, open fracture of the left femur, blood pressure is ninety-eight over sixty and dropping, respirations are ninety-four.”
A team of nurses surrounded the gurney and guided it past the fake Christmas tree at the nurse’s station and into the nearest available trauma room. A man and his young daughter immediately stepped into the emergency room, both of them appeared to be equally deep in shock.
Ruth, the admissions nurse stepped up and asked, “Can I help you sir?”
“That’s my wife,” he said, nodding his head toward the injured woman, “Her name is Lynn, I’m Bill. I was driving behind her, we saw it happen. We saw the other vehicle cross the line and hit her head on.”
“Okay Bill, the best thing you can do for your wife right now is to have a seat over here. Is that alright?”
“Yeah, I guess, sure, whatever. The, uh, the other driver, he’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Honestly Bill, I have no idea, we just got your wife here and are just learning what happened to her. So we can best take care of her Bill, as much as I know this is a bad time, I will need to ask you a few questions, is that okay?”
Bill collapsed into a chair, his daughter, Kara, was still in his arms as he looked up at Ruth and started to cry.
In Trauma Room Two, the nurses had moved Lynn from the gurney to a trauma bed as the doctor came walking into the room. This would be his third motor vehicle accident tonight, he was tired, and he missed his family, but it was Christmas and tonight, this woman needed him more. “What do we have?”
“Massive chest trauma, post MVA, drunk crossed the line and hit her head on. The medics performed a pleural decompression in the field, but her cavity keeps filling.”
“Okay, it’s Christmas Eve ladies and gentlemen, let’s do the best we can for her. We need to get a chest tube inserted, I need a PA chest x-ray stat,
get her typed and crossed for twelve units, somebody get ortho on the line and have O.R. get a room ready for us. This is going to be a long night.”
The nurse to the left of the doctor prepped a chest tube kit while another nurse -to his right- started prepping Lynn’s chest wall for the tube insertion. Once she was anesthetized, the doctor used a scalpel to make his initial cuts, then using a pair of forceps, he dissected a hole large enough for the chest tube. Fully inserting the tube, he noticed the mixture of pericardial fluid and blood in the tube. The sac around her heart was ruptured.
He cringed, knowing all too well that her heart was most likely irreparably damaged. As if to confirm his thoughts, her heart monitors flat-lined. His team went into immediate action, pulling out the crash cart, charging the defibrillator, prepping the intra-cardiac medications, and dropping the trauma bed to a lower position.
The doctor placed his hands on her chest and gave an initial compression.
What he felt made his heart sink, her chest was completely crushed and he honestly doubted a single rib was not fractured. He continued his compressions while a nurse bagged her for respirations. He called for the defib paddles and hit her at 200 joules, no response. He hit her again at 200 joules, no response. Checking her pulse himself and feeling nothing, he looked at the clock on the wall; the time read 8:14. “Time of death, 8:14, December twenty-fourth.”
* * *
The house had been decorated with Christmas lights and garland since long before the accident; neither Bill nor his young daughter noticed the lights as they returned home from the hospital later that night. Kara did not wait for her father to come around and help unbuckle her seatbelt. She
let herself out of the car and waited impatiently at the front door for her father to come and unlock it.
Kara ran into the house and through the kitchen, where just yesterday she and her mother had baked dozens of Christmas cookies. She slammed a dish of cookies across the room and walked past the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in their family room, then into her bedroom.
In a daze, Bill followed while he watched his daughter run through the house and into her bedroom. Stopping just outside of her closed bedroom door, he stood and listened for her through the door. Failing to hear her crying, he walked back into the kitchen to pick up the cookies and broken plate from the floor. When he walked into the family room, Bill stood and looked at the Christmas tree they had decorated as a family one short week before. The tree was decorated with all of the ornaments they had collected over the years, combined with all the ornaments Kara had made, they left not a single empty space on the tree. He immediately thought of the empty space that was created in his precious little family and fell to his knees sobbing uncontrollably. Looking towards the ceiling he yelled, "Why? Why would you take her from us?"
A short while later he looked up to see Kara standing in front of him, her face barren of any emotion. It crushed his heart to see her in shock. She held a sheet of paper in her hand and asked, “Daddy can we put out a glass of milk and cookies for Santa tonight?”
“I don't know if Santa is coming tonight sweetheart, he may want to give us a little time before he brings us your presents.”
“No daddy, he has to come tonight, it's very important, he has to!”
Bill reached out and took the note from her hand and went to open it. She snatched it back from his hands and yelled, “No! This note is for Santa only. You can't read it or else it won't work.”
The Undead That Saved Christmas Page 10