View from the Top

She hears incessant moaning rising up from below. The sound slowly forcing violent waves of nausea up from the pit of her stomach. Sitting atop the roof of her besieged home hurt and alone. Desperately she fights back an impending deluge of tears. “Gone," She whispers referring to her family. A lost husband, teenage son and a set of preteen twins. Black smoke billows around her like an acrid veil. It trails from her neighbor’s burning house. Wafting across, her face burning, her eyes. The woman rocks back and forth cradling her blooding knee. She had kicked out the attic window to gain access to the roof. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. A coughing fit seizes her. The choking smoke forcing her to lay flat against the roof. What greets her is a clear view of a cloudless sky. The sounds around her do not match the peace and tranquility of the sky above. It’s like seeing a beautiful serene painting while trapped in a nightmare. Sirens blare out from all manner of emergency vehicles. Screams and gunshots meld themselves together. Carrying on the breeze like dead leaves. Over everything, the moaning reigns supreme. The undead surrounds her home. From all sides, they call out for her flesh. On the way home from work she heard the tornado sirens wailing. Paying them no mind and thinking the sirens were just a test, she drove onward. Those precious minutes she had wasted. Had cost her everything she held dear. “Hey, lady you alive up there?” She sits up hearing a man’s voice call out. Cautiously scooting to the edge and peering down. The distant man’s voice is reduced to a muted echo. There below she sees her husband. Nameless among the moaning hungry horde. Stephen had died protecting her and the kids. His beautiful blue eyes clouded over in death. Reduced to vile off white puss colored orbs in their sockets. The right side of his neck torn down to the bone. A tiny helpless sob catches in her throat.

“Yes... Yes, my name is Darlene,” she screams back. The voice comes from a middle-aged man. Perched high up in the cab of a huge rusty red pickup truck. The zombies on the outer ring of the pack. Slowly begin to shamble towards the man in the truck. Which idles growling like a snoring bear at the end the sloped driveway. “Well, Darlene,” He says ducking back into the truck’s cab. “Stay there I’m going to pull up as close as I can.” The rusty red truck sitting on the obnoxiously high muddy tires. Lurches forward slowly gaining momentum as it pushes through the zombies. Darlene leaps to her feet. Attempting in vain to cover her face from the billowing smoke. That dances around her like a malevolent spirit. “Okay,” She answers him. Pain creeping up from her injured knee. A small pool of blood now coats the shingles beneath where she had been sitting. Taking an overly cautious step back, Darlene unwittingly loses her footing. Unable to steady herself, she pitches forward, and gravity does the rest. She falls into the waiting undead arms of her recently deceased husband. The dead man greets her with one final embrace. There amid the coalescing mass of walking corpses. It is not an embrace of love. Like the gentle ones, they had shared together. It is a malevolent embrace fueled by an insatiable hunger. This communal embrace is shared by all within the horde. By any who can clamber close enough to grab a piece of the woman’s body. Darlene is alive when the first teeth break her skin. Her screams drowned out the sound of the big red pickup. Its lone panicked stricken occupant behind the wheel. The man beats a hasty retreat. Crushing meandering zombies as he drives away. All thoughts of chivalry having vanished. Like the unfortunate woman who had fallen from the roof.

Resist

Resist

   Her senses told her that she is indeed awake. Yet, she knows that her eyes are still closed. She floats in that realm. The one that straddles the line between the light of the world. Versus the darkness of the void. Yet her ears tell her that the world around her is alive. The sounds of the city drift into her muted semiconscious existence. She hears sirens from emergency vehicles. The sounds warble about on the breeze. She realizes that her body is swaying rhythmically as if she’s being carried. Someone nearby breathes heavily from exertion. Their breath coming in hurried gasps. As if they are carrying something heavy as they walk. The soundless void of unconsciousness threatens to pull her back down into the darkness. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. Now consciously fighting back against the fuzz seeded within her brain. The young woman feels her memories returning. Going back replaying what she knows. The upscale bar downtown, her and her girlfriends drinking … a lot. The evening plays back in her shattered mind. There was a creepy guy they noticed across the bar. The cadence of the breathing around her changes. She feels herself being shifted about. Then the soft metallic jingle of keys causes her mind to race. The young woman’s eyes pop open. Terror drives rivers of icy fear into her heart. Her vision is hampered by black mesh cloth. “I’m in a bag of some sort.” Her mind yells the terrifying fact as a warning.

   A door opens somewhere near her then shuts quickly. It is then that she realizes the sounds from outside have been muted once more. “I'm inside now.” She tells herself on the verge of hysterics. “Now it's just us.” She hears a male’s mousy voice whisper in a hushed almost gleeful tone. “The creepy bastard from the bar.” Her mind drudges up the memory out of the alcohol muted subconscious of her mind. The thought rears up as if trying to free itself from a bubbling tar pit. “I went into the mouth of the alley to smoke…” She traces back the events. Like walking down, a long dark foreboding hallway. Knowing that somewhere in the shadows dangers is waiting to take her. “He spoke to me, I turned around ….” In her mind, she searches for clues. Like watching an old detective show on TV. A show that has been interrupted by static during a piviot moment in the story. “His hand was a blur of movement. Then everything in her world went black.” There she’s all caught up on the show now. But she knows she not going to like the ending. From outside the bag the keys jingle again. She feels herself being lowered down. A new sensation greets her. As her body comes to rest on something hard. A floor perhaps one that is not carpeted. In the outside world, a door is being unlocked. But inside her mind, her father speaks to her. “Virginia, honey…” she can see him now. Dressed in his pristine blue police uniform. He strokes her blonde hair. Kneeling his lanky frame down to her eye level. “Sweetie just because you are short. Does not mean you can’t be tough. It doesn’t mean anything” he told her. Gently placing a kiss on her forehead and wiping her tears away. The next day he enrolled her in a karate class. It was run by one of old his partners Marvin. A huge black man who had become like a second father to her. All throughout the years of her training that followed.

            

      A foul smell filters down into the bag. Accompanied by a cool breeze. Hearing the creak of a rusty door hinge squealing. The putrid odor is mixed with the dank musty smell one finds in a damp basement. Except this basement is filled with dampness and rotting meat. If she had listened to the two greatest men to influence her life. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt. That she would not be in this life-threatening predicament. None of that matters to Virginia now. With all the subtly she can muster. Laying on the floor in what must be a gym back of some sort. She flexes her feet and hands. Becoming keenly aware that she is not bound. Her hands and feet are free much to her relief. She is indeed small in stature. The young woman knows this fact. But what she lacks in size. Virginia makes up in ferocity. A soft moan from somewhere below catches her attention. It is immediately followed by another and then joined by several more. “Now for the new girl.” She hears the male’s voice. Up from below comes the sound of feet dragging across a floor. The sound of a light switch being flicks echoes around her. She pushes all that back as she feels a body near her. From outside the sack, there’s a tug. Followed by the sound of the bag’s zipper being pulled down. Virginia has closed her eyes once more. She waits coiled, tension rippling through her muscles. But her breathing is slow and easy. And when the man reaches for her. Believing her to still be unconscious from the blow to her head. She strikes the moment his fingers brush her arm. Much the same way a Venus flytrap is triggered by its unsuspecting prey. The scream of anger tears itself from her throat. It startles the kneeling man. He is caught off guard by his “victim.” Driving the palm of her right hand under his chin. His head snaps back from the teeth-rattling force of the blow. Her attack is coordinated and relentless. Just like Marvin taught her. “Don’t stop until your attacker is incapacitated or yields.” Her small left hand delivers a coordinated precise strike to the man’s exposed throat. Virginia leaps up from the bag on the floor snarling. Without pausing, she grabs the hair on both sides of the creepers head. Pulling the stunned man’s head forward. The tiny young woman delivers three lightning quick knee strikes. Each blow decimating her attacker’s face. The first blow ruptures his bottom lip. The second sends the man’s two front teeth skittering across the hardwood floor. And the third audibly crushes his nose. With a flailing hand, the kneeling man interrupts the barrage of blows. By forcefully shoving Virginia violently backward. He stands cackling in a sinister rage. “You bitch ... you broke my nothse.” The last word comes out comically from his destroyed face. However, there is nothing funny about the man’s rage. Nor does she find his size to be a joke. She sees that carrying her tiny hundred- and twenty-pound frame. Would be like a child cradling a teddy bear to this stocky man.  Pausing briefly, she steadies herself for his charge. The alcohol and blow to her head taking their combined toll on her movements.

      

      A moan come through the open door behind the man. This time the sound is louder and more menacing than before. Her attacker turns towards the sound. The light from the door cascading over his damaged and bloodied face. But she can still see the confusion etched upon the man’s face as he speaks. “Jennifer … Deborah …. Sss Samantha ... Annn … Angela. What are you doing?” He stammers. Calling out these seemingly random female names. Speaking the way, one does when greeting old friends. Whom you haven’t seen in years. The bloodied man stands there enraptured. As if he’d successfully extracted these women’s names from the “recently deleted” bin of his mind. Virginia moves in to take full advantage of the creeper’s distraction. She pauses mid-step. A grimy grey hand appears. Silently slithering around the man’s broad shoulders. The putrid limb moves like sensual lover’s caress. A fear so palpable washes over Virginia. In her mind’s eye, she watches as her own soul. Leaps from her rigid and immobile body. And takes off running down the darkened hallway. Before vaulting out the front window of the house. “I …I don’t understand.” The creeper utters breathlessly. The hand and arm that come into view. The appendage is a sickly pale grey greenish shade. Rotting sores of blackish decay cover the limb. “Did you all come back to be with me.” He says hope tinging his voice. A ragged smile touching the corner of his split and swollen lips. She can’t see what’s coming up the stairs. But the moans have risen to an eerie crescendo. They seem to come from a multitude of hoarse throats. “I’m sorry I hurt you all.” He offers an apology to the unseen entities coming up from the basement. Several more hands clamp on to the man. Virginia is forced to cover her nose. Using her tiny bruised hand in a vain attempt to ward off the stench. That now fills the hallway. Without warning the head of a woman lashes out. She clamps her teeth down on the creeper’s jaw. It takes all Virginia’s fortitude not to vomit. As the woman’s face comes into view. She looks as if she is rotting away. Large sections of her face have decomposed down through to the white bone beneath. Her eyes are glazed over white jellied orbs.

     The Creeper begins to scream. A high-pitched shrill sound one never expects to hear from a man. The woman shakes her head the way a shark does. Prying loose a chunk of flesh and chewing. With all the vigor of a dog with a stole morsel of food. A second woman’s head appears. This time latching on to the man’s throat. The scream turns into gurgles of “I’m sorry.” As more heads latch on to the creeper. He sways drunkenly in place. Trying in vain to fight off the mob of decaying women attacking him. “Move now …” Virginia hears her daddy screaming in her mind. She launches herself at the man in the hallway. With all the force she can muster. The tiny woman rams her assailant. He falls forward into the basement down several wooden stairs. Taking his throng of cannibal admirers with him. She pauses in the dim light. The tangle of limbs comes to rest at the bottom of the stairs. A dozen rotting sickly colored women grab at the creeper now. They tear at him with decayed fingers and broken yellowed teeth. Opening him up like a pinata filled with delicious raw meat. His screams grow fainter from under the pile of bodies. As his body spasms uncountably. She sees more figures coming around to join in on the attack. One woman her body showing signs of a savage beating. Stops staring up at her with glassy white dead fish eyes. Virginia gasps as the woman steps over the squirming mass. She whirls about slamming the door and twisting an old deadbolt into place. Virginia wills her rubbery legs to move. “Time to see if, I can’t catch my soul.” She thinks aloud. Now finding herself sprinting through a living room devoid of furniture. All around her the walls are covered. With neatly cut meticulously place newspaper articles. “The Duffle Bag Killer strikes again.” A bold headline proclaims from the front page of the local paper. As she whirls about the room desperately taking in the macabre scene. She sees women’s pictures in the articles on the wall. The most recent article pinned neatly on the wall closest to the door. Steals the breath from her lungs. It’s the girl, she saw staring up from the bottom of the stairs. The one who looked at her as if she were a meal. The screams from downstairs have ceased now. She hears the first bump on the door behind her. Virginia runs from the house into the chaos of the night. Sirens wails, fires burn, gunshots echo, screams carry by. And everywhere people are frantically running about. Virginia utters a single tiny cry standing on the small porch. Realizing the reality of her situation. Which has gone from bad to hell on earth. In only a few short moments. She leaps off the stairs and straight into the apocalypse. 

Going Green

  “Police are cautioning all residents to stay in their homes.” The golden-haired newscaster on the small television tells his viewing audience. “If you must evacuate your home please head to one the designated military safe zones.” News anchor continues shuffling papers in his hands. The thin man in the room slowly moves away from the TV. He tiptoes on the balls of his feets to the window of his darkened home. Drawing back the curtain with two very shaky fingers. He scans the street out front of his single level ranch home. The man is treated to an up close and personal view of the mayhem on the street. From next door screams of agony erupt like an exploding geyser. He sees his neighbor Al clinging desperately to a small silver chain link fence. On his back, a man rides him to the ground. The bloodied figure bites down on Al’s exposed neck. Even as Al’s wails reach their crescendo. The man greedily tears away chunks of flesh from his helpless victim. The man in the house watches “the infected people” as the newscaster had called them. They converge on Al; his shrieks only seem to draw more of them out of the shadows. A bloody hand slaps the window before him. Its followed by a bloodcurdling moan. The man falls backwards cartwheeling over his tattered green couch. “Come on Brody gets together.” The man prods himself up as the window crashes inward. Brody as a self-professed pacifist. Did not have anything that, he could remotely use as a weapon. He moved through the tiny house past the kitchen counter. The sound of glass shattering comes from all around him. Brody snags his cars keys not looking back. Cautiously he opens his back door. “All clear” he sighs opening the door wider. 

  He sees his sleek black electric car sitting in its charging port. Brody unhooks his automobile from its charging station. He’s diligently attempting to be quiet. Well as quiet as his jittery nerves will allow. He smiles to himself as he gets in tiny car. With an experienced twist of his wrist, the car hums to life. The dashboard readout shows “full charge” in green. A mangled hand slaps the car’s trunk. To his horror it was his zombie friend from earlier. Except now the zombie was an even more ghastly sight. Jagged shards of glass jut out the ambling zombie at odd angles. Now the undead walking corpse has brought company. Zombies pour from his house like angry bees leaving a hive. Brody throws the car in reverse. He mows the undead under as he goes. Bodies pelt the car from every direction. He does not look up until he finds himself in the street. Driving away in a panic without looking back. He turns a corner to see an overrun gas station. The slaughter laid out before him is horrific. As the dead feast on the living. Yet amid all this carnage more cars continue to pull into the chaos of the gas station. The zombies beset anything living tearing warm human bodies apart with teeth and hands. Most of these vehicle’s occupants don’t last more than a few fleeting seconds. Before they are drug screaming from their cars and devoured. “Go green” Brody finds himself chuckling as he negotiates around the horror. “Where was that safe zone again?” He asks himself. Gleefully tapping the directions in on the car’s glowing GPS display. “Two hundred two miles to safety,” he says joyfully. He finds the open road. Taking time to breathe Brody slides a CD of classical music into the dash. Then he kicks the a/c up to drive some of the humidity from the sticky hot night. Driving through the night, he passes truck stops and gas stations along the way. Hours pass by Brody’s tired dry eyes. He ignores the slaughter all around him from the safety of his car. Finally, Brody sees a road sign up ahead as the Sun began to rise in the East. In the distance, he sees big floodlights beating back the darkness. The military had drawn a line in the sand. They held the undead at bay as sure as the light held back the darkness. “Made it” Brody whispered to himself with a satisfied grin. In darkness up ahead, shadows begin to emerge. Not by ones and twos but by the dozen. 

    A double chime dings out in the car’s comfortable interior. The once green battery display light was now a faint sliver of red. It now blinked an ominous “Low Battery.” Like dramatic music playing in a horror movie. As the killer closes in on his victim. “Please no,” Brody whined. His shiny black car loses power. It begins to coast to a stop. Coming to rest at the rear phalanx of a massive throng of walking corpses. The zombies take notice of the car that has come to rest in their midst. Slowly they press in from all sides. A final fluttering of the headlights like delicate moth wings tearing. Suddenly he’s plunged into absolute darkness. The weight of hundreds of decayed bodies buffet the car as if it were a tiny boat. Caught in the merciless savage winds of a typhoon. Brody slinks down to the floor curling up with tears in his eyes. The zombies are not fooled by his vanishing act. The onslaught continues until the windows of the car shatter. The dead slither into the car. The way maggots do on an animals mangled carcass left on the side of the road. Their moaning rising like the morning sun. Brody’s first howl of pain comes as a zombie bites down on his exposed arm. “No, get away.” He pleads to the moaning undead slithering over him. Brody’s wails of agony go unheard. The undead have their fill of his flesh. As they wash over the car in one final diseased surge of hunger.

The Rental

  “We were making pretty good time Laura. Until we got redirected by the GPS” He says to his wife. Looking at the GPS app pulled up on his phone. He gives it the disdainful glance of a spouse. Forced to take back an adulterous partner. The woman riding in the passenger seat sits back. Having just turned the satellite radio to the seventies station. “Well, James like I told you.” She uncaps a bottle of soda taking a swig. “I just didn’t want to be in some backwoods town when the sun went down.” He chuckles as the shiny sleek grey minivan speeds down the interstate. He had fallen in love like most folks with a rental car. This was pure automotive heaven compared to his ten-year-old minivan sitting at home. They had rented this beauty to drive from Illinois to Alabama for their daughter’s wedding. Now they were heading home. Midnight was approaching as they came upon Nashville. South, I-65 was bordered by thick dense forest on either side of the road. On the east side of the road in the distance. The city lights sparkled like multi-colored jewels laid out on pristine black velvet. Nashville was separated from I-65 by several miles of trees and open fields. Where the land sloped gently down to the city. “Anybody hungry?” Laura calls back to their children. She opens a blue cooler as a chorus of “I am” and “me” erupt from the back seat. “Jordan,” Laura says passing two sandwiches to their teenage son. “Pass those back to Joslin and Jalen.” The boy does as instructed handing food back to his giggling younger sisters. “I just want an apple mom.” Their oldest Susan blurts from the seat behind Laura. The minivan begins to decelerate quickly. “Why are we slowing?” Laura turns bracing herself against the dashboard. “Ugh, I think we are coming up on some night road construction.” He sighs through gritted teeth. Ahead of them, a line of red brake lights stretching out like a string of Christmas lights. They go from cruising to a complete stop in less than a minute. The cars on the Interstate now idle bumper to bumper. He shuts off the car in frustration. Staring in disbelief James sees the once green route traced out on his phone’s GPS app. Now blinking the dark red of delay and gridlock. The dense dark forest dances with glimmering red shadows cast off by the multitude of brake lights.

   Without warning and intense ball of flames shoots into the night sky over Nashville. The entire family whips their heads in the direction of the blast almost in unison. A greasy black cloud of smoke billows up against the night sky like an oil stain on a black shirt. “What the ….” James shouts as his younger daughters’ yelp in terror. The minivan rocks softly as the blast waves reach them with a muted “boom.” “Good Lord …” Jordan begins from behind his father. “Look at all the emergency lights.” Below them, scattered about the cityscape strobing lights materialize out of the distant inky darkness. As if they have been summoned by magic. In the blink of an eye with the speed of someone tossing a match in a puddle of gas. Three more rapid-fire explosions dot the city’s beautiful skyline. Below them in the distance. The city of Nashville is infected with pockets of ravenous yellow flames. They are drawn back to the here and now by a slap on the van’s windshield. All at once everyone in the van screams in horror. A bloodied man the skin on his face in tatters. Slaps the window on Laura’s side of the van. The woman unclasps her seatbelt and in one panicked motion leaps into her husband’s lap. James lets his gaze settle on the blood-soaked man. Suddenly baring his teeth. The man snarls like a rabid animal. A brackish thick foamy rivulet of saliva pours from his mouth. In the rear of the van, the younger girls begin to wail for their mother. The man slaps the passenger side window with a bloodied palm. He pounds the window repeatedly. Leaving behind an abstract portrait of bloody smears. On the once pristine window. Behind the man, a second man appears. Having exited an idling big rig in the next lane. “Hey, buddy …” is all the hefty truck driver gets out. The man pounding on the window snaps to as if touched by a cattle prod. Roaring the bloodied man pounces on the burly man, driving the trucker to the ground. A scream, unlike anything anyone in the van has ever heard a human make. Echoes across the night sky as the man atop the trucker. Tears away a large portion of the trucker’s right cheek with his teeth.

  A new wave of screams bounces around the interior of the minivan. Punctuated by an eight-year-old Joslin. Who hollers “zombie” at the top of her lungs. James finds his mind following a disjointed fractured path. It briefly goes back to his wife scolding him. After allowing their baby girl to watch him play a zombie-themed video game. As his eyes focus pulling away from the past and back to the present. His heart leaps hard enough in his chest to cause him physical pain. Across the road from where they sit. Dozens upon dozens of figures are staggering from the pitch-black woods. This shuffling, wailing mass of figures plunge onto the asphalt of I-65 in waves. Attacking anything living like fire ants consuming all in their path. People caught outside their cars are defenseless against the onslaught. Soon the family is surrounded by screams and chaos on all sides. These crazed people, he refuses to admit they are possibly the undead. As his eight-year-old has insinuated. They cover the road breaking in vehicles. The dead work attacking with an uncoordinated frenzy. It requires no thinking just pure primal instinct. As one helpless person after another is dragged from their vehicle. Then brutally torn to shreds by gnashing teeth and filthy clawing fingers. While yet others die screaming. As these monstrous beings’ pile into their vehicles to get at their warm flesh. With his wife still on his lap, James sees his teenage daughter in the rear of the van. A woman with a savage neck wound. Is clawing at the window screeching as she attempts to get at the girl. Jalen terrified at the woman’s face and with tears running down her cheeks. She presses her jacket up to the window covering the woman’s face. Attempting to his from the woman outside. “Dadddddd” Jalen calls. Before James can move, he watches the woman outside the van loose interest in his daughter. Instead, the ragged woman moans turning away. She shuffles away two cars over to a woman who is standing on the roof of her car. The blonde woman on top of the car is surrounded. She cradles a tiny yapping dog in her arms. The agitated crowd of zombies besieges the car on all sides as the woman cries for help. They begin to rock the car. This causes the woman and her dog to topple head first into the hungry crowd below. “Cover the windows,” James yells as he makes eye contact with a pack of crazed figures headed their way.

  He grabs the windshield sun cover the rental car company had provided from the center console. The metallic green cover is emblazoned with the company’s orange swoosh logo. It unfurls like an umbrella as he jams it into place with second to spare. The Lawson family demolishes the contents of the car. Frantically covering the windows obscuring their attacker's view. Two dozen sets of bloodied hands began to pound on the rental’s exterior. They use everything from Laura’s formal pink dress to their pillows and covers. Soon the interior of the car in cast into a deep black claustrophobic darkness. The pounding slowly ceases as the moans drift away fading into the night. The family is huddled in the center of the van doors locked. From the middle of the pile, someone starts praying softly. They compress themselves in together. From somewhere close by a massive engine revs. This is followed by the unmistakable sounds of a semi truck’s engine dropping into gear. The massive truck comes to life. With only their ears to tell the story. The horrendous shriek of metal rending rings out. The van jostles as it’s pushed sideways. Someone whimpers inside the van. “It's ok, it's ok” James soothes his family wrapped in his arms. Outside the world descends into chaos. The sound of the diesel battering ram carrying into the distance. The night goes by slowly. Serenading the terrified family with a soundtrack of screams, sirens, gunshots, moans, and explosions. All the sounds one would associate the world falling to its knees.

 Tense hours pass by like years in the van. A thin shaft of sunlight cast across the roof of the rental awakens James. He pulls away from his family and positions himself to peek out the window. In the door’s armrest, he sees his phone. He grabs it tapping the screen to wake the device up. The GPS app is still running. It shows the road to home is still impassable. It advises a U-turn as the northbound lanes are free. Operating on muscle memory alone, his thumb refreshes the GPS app. He sees a text message from twenty minutes ago. It's his newlywed daughter back in Illinois, Kayla. “Dad, Bob and I have been trying to call you guys. News is talking about zombies and outbreaks like all over the south. Turn around come back here. Praying you guys are safe call me please.” He can see a few zombies walking aimlessly about through the slit. The road before them is dead figuratively and literally. Something large has plowed a clear path in the next lane over. The other side of the I-65 leading back north is open and clear. The line of his daughter’s text resonates in his mind. “Turn around …” “Wake up” he whispers to his family. Cranking the engine up. The van starts with a smooth growl. James rips the window screen down. As he steers the car over debris in the road. Plunging the now dented grey gore covered minivan into the soft grassy median.  Directly before him, he can see Nashville. Wicked black tendrils of smoke waft upwards from the dying city. The smoke threatening to obscure the brilliant early morning sun. He runs over two filthy figures crouched in the high grass tearing at something meaty and pink. Once he hits the open road on the opposite side, he guns the engine. The only obstacles he can see are rogue packs of zombies scattered about. The dead meander on legs stiffened by rigor and injuries. The van passes them by with ease. “What are we doing?” Laura asks panic still etched across her beautiful brown features. He hands her his phone without speaking. Eyes locked on the road passing a green sign reading “Illinois 150 miles.”

Limitations

Limitations

       “Hey, Ms. Ye I’m done for the evening.” The young Asian woman nods “Thank you, Mr. Smith ….” The black man’s bald head seems to hang in the space between the classroom’s partially open door. “No problem I’ll be waiting by the door down in the east hallway to walk you to your car?” She reaches for the silver forearm crutches propped against her desk. The crutches were as much a part of her glasses were. She had used them since she was a child thanks to a genetic birth defect “I would appreciate that very much” She responds. With that, the man disappears from the door. The sound of his massive engineer’s key ring echoes down the deserted hallway. The sound of his keys reminded her of sleigh bells at Christmas. She is vaguely aware of the noise bouncing off the shatterproof opaque windows of the school building. “There are sure a lot of sirens tonight.” She thinks to herself that it is not out of the ordinary for this part of town. Fawn was miffed at herself for staying at work so late again. She slides her forearms into the cuffs with ease. As her hands grasp the black handles, she hears a scream carry down the hall to her ears. A horrible and hollow sound. The echo cascading down the hallway towards her. “Mr. Smith” She calls out struggling to her feet. Fawn wrestles the door to her classroom open. Down at the end of the hall in a cone of light, she can see the engineer laying on the white tiled floor. A figure kneels over him their face down near him. She assumes giving first aid to the engineer.

    She hobbles towards figures on her feeble legs the crutches supporting most of her weight. A rhythmic clapping of the crutches on the weathered tile floor. Signals her approach. “Mr. Smith” She fumbles breathlessly nearing the scene. Blood pools underneath the figure hunched above the big black man in the grimy engineer’s uniform. The young male leaning over Mr. Smith whirls about. Blood covers his face from the chin down. Huge goblets drop off, his chin. They land in the widening crimson puddle at his feet. “Oh God” She cries staggering back until she hits a wall sliding down. Fawn Ye vaguely recognizes the boy from around the school. He climbs awkwardly to his feet. With sickly spoiled milk colored locking on to her. Drunkenly he sways in place. With a deep moan, he starts making his way towards her.  Arms outstretched blood caked fingers working like arthritic spiders. Fawn raises up a crutch defensively as the boy falls forward mouth open. His clumsy momentum carries him downward. He hits the apparatus face first. His full weight drives the aluminum crutch through his eye socket. Fawn screams out as the boy goes limp. She dumps him to the side yanking her crutch free. Fawn fights to her feet steadying herself. From behind her, comes a deep powerful moan. Fawn turns on her crutches to see Mr. Smith his neck torn open the wound rimmed with sticky congealing blood. “Mister ….” She says hopefully but to no avail. 


   The large man lurches for her his eyes now white and dead. Fawn can see the metal windowless exit doors just behind him. Cursing her lame legs Fawn acts out of instinct. She plants her crutches bracing herself. Fawn Ye kicks out with all the strength both her crippled legs can muster. Her legs have just enough force to drive the heavy man backward. She tumbles to the floor watching Mr. Smith fall back in the opposite direction. Just as he hits the door, his key ring clatters to the floor and then he is gone. Fawn begins to commando crawl for the open door. She moves through the warm gummy blood on the floor. Reaching up for the door, her hands trembling uncontrollably. She takes a brief look outside. Stumbling dark shapes swarm the parking lot. Fawn yanks the door closed as Mr. Smith sits up. She feels the door shake in her hands. Thunderous pounding from the other side rattles the door in its frame. Without thinking, Fawn flips a crutch around jamming it through the handles of the door as a brace. The assault from the outside continues. After several breathless minutes, Fawn finds one of the keys that lock the door. As pounding coming from the other side grows louder. Fawn limps backward turning around holding onto the wall for support. On palsied legs, she wobbles unsteadily looking into the empty darkness alone. 

All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse by Shannon Walters et al.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CBTQ8MQ/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_udp_awd_i3T5wbVWANS9H


The Chronology of the Apocalypse is a new anthology. It is brought to you by the fine folks over at ATZ (All Things Zombie). The zombie themed anthology follows the zombie apocalypse from its unknown beginning to its bitter end.

  Featuring and all new story me entitled "The Monitor." One man gets to watch the zombie apocalypse unfold from his comfy office at work!


Check it out!

Survivor Journals!

http://soundcloud.com/thesurvivorjournals/episode-1-the-survivor-journals

An awesome #zombie themed audio drama with some voice work done by yours truly.