The Restless Dead

[Hudsonhawk777]

MajorHavoc

Can't wait to see whatever direction this takes really some top notch writing here thanks for taking the time to share it with us all.

[MaconCJ7]

The title doesn't decide the story. "XXX" wasn't a porn. "Swordfish" had nothing to do with fishing. "Black Snake Moan" - I have no idea what the heck the title had to do with much of anything. I'm using movies because while I don't have a library convenient, I do have my media server. So, write the story, the title will figure itself out. I will call it "Immunity" in my head. Then, when you get a title that actually works, I will still call it "Immunity" because I hate change.

For now I am not concerned about the title, as my only interest is moar.

And I concur with the merging. The links were helpful, but combining all of the chapters into one topic would be easier on the reading.

[Horatio_Tyllis]

All of Majorhavoc's story posts merged into 1 thread.

[majorhavoc]

What's that sound? I think that would be the thunderous applause from everyone who had to put up with my crazy linked chapters system.

Thanks HT

[Tendrax]

Right, now that's all sorted out, MOAR!

[ForgeCorvus]

THIS


Please

[Laager]

I just finished reading all the posts (story line) and can certainly say that I am interested in finding out where this story line leads and what happens to Bill and Zoey.

Thank you for all the hard work and effort you put into writing this story.

[ZMace]

Where's Francis?

[majorhavoc]

Where's Francis?

Francis hates to be rushed.

[MaconCJ7]

So not cool dude. Not cool at all. There was an update, your name was on it, but then I was saddened. I have to go cry myself to sleep in the fetal position now. Thank you for that.

[Tendrax]

So not cool dude. Not cool at all. There was an update, your name was on it, but then I was saddened. I have to go cry myself to sleep in the fetal position now. Thank you for that.

What he said.

[ForgeCorvus]

Yey! Havoc posted........Boo, no moar

We only nag because its good

[majorhavoc]

This next installment is kicking my butt, guys. But I think I've worked through the tough part and it's starting to come together. To try to make amends for my ill-considered tease of a post (Five words, people. Five words. Sheesh! ), I'm doing something I wouldn't otherwise do. I'm posting half a chapter.

This writing is a little less polished than ususal. I always tend to edit my story posts and tinker with minor details after posting, but some of what follows may change a bit more drastically over the next few days. If for some reason you re-read it a week from now, you might see some things have been removed, or added. But what I've got so far seems to hang together ok. Hope you like.

[majorhavoc]

The day dawns with a crimson sun rising over the eastern horizon, chasing whips of fog and mist from the hollows and rolling hills of the eastern Pennsylvania countryside. It is the second day after I helped Frank bury Mary and Gavin next to the vegetable garden.

It looks to be another hot, muggy Indian summer day.

The safe house is less than a mile from the highway and on this, a weekday morning, the din of traffic should already be a steady, dull roar. Easily competing with Frank’s tea kettle whistling on the propane stove. Frank sweeps it off the burner and the sound abruptly ceases. Replaced by a brooding silence, punctuated by the faint buzz of crickets that portend the oppressive day to come.

Zoey is busy cranking away with the antique coffee mill, pausing every few seconds to pull open the tiny wooden drawer at its base, checking her excruciatingly slow progress, willing the coffee to grind faster.

Wishing for an electric coffee grinder.

No sounds of motorized traffic from the outside, no buzzing or beeping appliances indoors. I realize that while silence is peaceful where and when it‘s expected, it’s also vaguely unsettling in places or times when it is not. I’ve become so used to the background static of the mechanized world that in its absence, I find myself straining to detect something that at first doesn’t seem to be there. But the longer I fail to perceive it, the more I become convinced that there is something there. Something just beyond that deafening silence. Or maybe hidden within it. It puts me on edge. It’s like something is brewing out there, slowly gathering itself, just beyond the world that I can perceive.

But here in this kitchen, the only thing brewing is the coffee, as Frank pours boiling water over the freshly ground beans Zoey has just added to coffee pot.

“I find it's best to use less water and just enjoy the one good cup, instead of tryin’ to stretch it out.” Frank advises as he pours the last of the boiling water and places the lid back on the coffee pot. “Two cups of watery coffee just means twice as much to remind you how bad it is.”

“Amen to that,” Zoey pronounces. She‘s sitting at a low stool, hunched over the kitchen counter. Her chin is resting on her crossed arms directly in front of the coffee pot. It’s resting on a trivet less than six inches from her nose. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. “Aaahhh.”

“No offense, Bill,” Zoey says, coming out of her java-induced reverie. “But I bet this is gonna beat the pants off that powdered international café mocha cappa crappa java shit you had from the snack shops.”

“No offense taken, Zoey. But you didn’t seem to mind that mocha stuff when I mixed it with the Bailey’s I found on the sixth floor. You didn‘t mind that at all.”

“Ah, Bill! Now why’d you have to remind me of that? A few shots of that stuff in a real mug of coffee? It hurts just thinking about how good that would be.”

“Well now, if you like that kind of thing, I do have some Kaluha or something like it up here somewhere, “ Frank offers, opening a kitchen cabinet.

“Uh-uh. Thanks Frank, but no. We’re both fine with the coffee straight up. Today’s a big day.”

“You two sure you want to go through with this?” Frank asks, pouring the steaming, pungent brew into three ceramic mugs. “I mean, I need the help and all, but no one could blame you for just moving on and bypassing the center of town.”

“No, we need those supplies as much as you do Frank. I don’t know where we’ll eventually end up, but if we’re to travel around on our own, we’re going to have to learn how to overcome obstacles along the way. This little task for you is as good a place as any to start.”

“Like a side quest,” Zoey interjects, hands wrapped around her steaming mug.

“Come again?”

“Side quest.” she continues, sitting up to face Frank and me. “A detour from the primary goal. Usually to obtain increased treasure, gain enough experience to level up or find certain powerful items that will prove useful in the real campaign.”

I look at Frank. “Was Gavin like this? I count at least 30 words that came out of that girl’s mouth just now. I know the meaning of every blessed one of them, but I don’t have the foggiest notion what she just said.”

Zoey, in a booming baritone: “Behold, I have found the mighty Crimson Sword of Akhbar! "

“You had kids of your own, Bill?” Frank asks me, ignoring an increasingly animated Zoey.

“What, I ponder, will happen when I pick it up from this enticingly accessible dais?”

“Nope,” I reply. “Been alone practically my whole life.”

“Verily, me thinks the very ground shall issue forth demon warriors in numbers beyond reckoning! “

“And she’s like this often?“ Frank continues, gesturing to Zoey. Who is now standing atop the kitchen stool, brandishing a sloshing coffee mug.

“And yonder gates will seal shut, trapping us! And such a battle we will wage ere this night draws to a close!“

“Pretty much all the time, Frank.“

“Why else, stalwart companions, is this entire area conveniently littered with health potions and assorted lesser weapons found no where else in these wretched catacombs? ”

“Bill,” Frank says as he places a hand on my shoulder, “You’re either very brave, or very stupid.”

“To me! To me! Noble warriors of the Quest! Together we stand! Together we fight! Together we dine in Hell!”

[majorhavoc]

The sun is midway between the horizon and directly overhead as we cautiously follow the shoulder of Old Town Road. We walk past a 30 MPH speed limit sign and the country road suddenly grows a paved shoulder and we pass under the shade of the first in a long row of hemlock trees.

I’m clutching the crowbar in my hands, rather than carrying it in my pack. Likewise, Zoey is carrying the baseball bat Frank lent to her, so she’s now rearmed with her preferred weapon. I contemplate the inevitable first zombie encounter today. How long before she abandons it and takes off, running? I wonder. Wouldn’t be so bad if the girl ran away from the zeds, instead of straight towards them.

There’s a dense hedge marking the border of the first real residential property we encounter. I motion to Zoey and we push our way through a thin spot and settle onto the grass on the other side. We’re nearly invisible from every direction except the side yard and the front of the split level ranch that dominates this property. I spread out the town map Frank lent to us.

“We should be about here,“ I say pointing to a spot on the map along Old Town Road, just inside the shaded green area denoting the town boundary. “I think Old Town Road has officially changed to Main Street now. Frank said we can‘t stay on this main drag too long, because anyone on the Shake ‘n Bake can see up and down Main Street no problem.”

“And we want to sneak up on him, right?” Zoey says, staring intently at the map.

“Right. We need to get off Main Street as soon as we can, onto one of these side streets, here.” I say, pointing to a tight grid of streets marked on the map.

“Maple Street, Rosemont, Pleasant, Elm.” Zoey intones, studying the map. “Those all sound residential to me. They’ll be tree lined, shady. Should block this guy’s view from the top of that building. “ Zoey points to the map. “We can cut through this neighborhood and come out onto Court Street. That’ll bring us right alongside the Shake 'n Bake. With this river to our right, we won‘t have to worry as much about any wandering zeds.“

“That’s good, Zoey.” I nod approvingly. “Very good. That’s a well considered approach. Exactly what I would do. Sure you were never in the military?”

“Do I look like military material to you?”

“Point taken. I’m just glad to see you approaching these things from a tactical perspective.”

“Screw the army talk, Bill. I just don’t want to get shot or eaten, that’s all.”

We jog across the front lawn to the hedge running along the opposite side of the property. This we follow through the side yard to the back of the house. There we find a low fence with a gate opening onto an alley. The gate is built between the posts of a trellis, encased in creeping ivy.

Beyond the alley, another row of fencing, another back yard and more homes. I shift my focus back to the yard we’re standing in. The grass is already going to seed, partially obscuring balls and toy trucks mired in the overgrowth. Butting up against the back of the house is low deck, cluttered with resin patio furniture and a gas barbeque grill. Leading off the deck into the house is an open glass sliding door. I note writing on the glass doors. The markings are in a chalky white substance, probably soap.

“Clear - All supplies taken” Followed by a date and a single letter: “G”.

“Wow,” Zoey observes pensively. “Gavin really got around. He had a whole system, didn‘t he?“ A few seconds of silence follow and then Zoey continues. “I wish I hadn’t been so mean to him.“

“Don’t beat up on yourself, Zoey. He understood why you weren’t too friendly the other night.“

“Still. I all but called him a Nazi. I wish I had the chance to take it back.“

“I think he knew you eventually would have. Which amounts to the same thing if you think about it. And, Zoey? If you don’t mind me saying so, I think he saw even that brief encounter with you as a ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak life.“

“Life is pretty bleak isn’t it, Bill? You meet people and they die before you even get a chance to decide whether you like them. Every day there’s fewer of us and more of them. It’s like we can’t afford to be angry at the people who’re still left. If we‘re going to survive, we have to figure out a way to be nice to each other.”

“I‘ll remind you of that the next time you feel like slugging me. Com‘mon, kid, we‘ve got work to do. Let‘s see if we can get a certain survivor on the Shake 'n Bake to be nice to us. “

[majorhavoc]

We reach the trellised gate at the back of the yard and I peer around the fence posts into the alley. Just a gravel and dirt surface, it runs east and west, pocked with puddles of standing water from the recent rains. Of more immediate interest is the pair of zeds just 100 feet to the west, the direction we want to go. They’re both motionless, a male standing listlessly in a mud puddle, a female standing with its hip slumped up against a low fence. Both are facing away from us.

I quickly draw back and wordlessly motion Zoey to come forward and have a look. She glances into the alley and immediately jerks her head back into the yard, alarmed. We retreat back towards the rear of the house and kneel down to confer.

“That’s the direction we need to go, Zoey," I say, whispering. "Two ways we can do this. Back up and try to work our way around, or take those two out quietly.”

“You want to just take care of those two now, don’t you Bill?”

“Well, here’s my thinking: every detour we make means more ground to cover. That just increases the chances of running into more zombies. If we try to go around these two, we’re just as likely to run into more zeds somewhere else. Except the next zombies might not be looking in the other direction. These two haven’t seen us yet; I say we take advantage of the opportunity.”

“Makes sense. So we take out these two zeds while we have the element of surprise.”

“Exactly. But Zoey? If we’re going to do this, and do it right, we have to do it together. I need to know that you’re going to stick to the plan, OK?”

A dozen silent thoughts are conveyed in the glances we exchange, not all of them charitable sentiments of love and cooperation. But to my relief, Zoey nods in agreement. “We’re holding the line, right Bill?”

“That’s right Zoey, we’re a line of two. We hit hard and quick. These things seem to go into a daze when they’ve been inactive for a while. We can take advantage of that. The one on the left, the female, is further away. You're faster, so that’s your target. “

I outline the plan. We advance on them as quietly as possible. Ideally, we want to be almost on top of the closest zombie without arousing any attention. Zoey is to then rush past that one and clobber the second zed. The first one will be alerted, but I’ll be right behind it and brain it with the crowbar. If everything goes well, my zombie will go down with just one or two blows and I’ll be able to assist Zoey if she needs it.

We leave our packs in the yard and quietly ease open the gate. Walking abreast, bat and crowbar in hand, we advance cautiously down the alley. Our eyes are fixed on our targets, in case either begins to stir. The male zed is just 20 feet ahead of us now, standing inert in the middle of a mud puddle. The female zombie, another 10 feet beyond, also motionless.

I’m striding forward when I feel a knock against the toe of my boot and look down in time to see a loose stone roll into a puddle with a soft splash. I glance up. The closest zombie straightens up out of its stupor and lets out a low moan. It begins to turn around to its right.

Shit.

“Move! Move! Move! Move!” I whisper urgently.

Zoey is past the first zombie before I can reach it. She sprints by on its left as it‘s turning to its right, so it never sees her. Instead it fixes its eyes on me just as I bring the crowbar down onto its head. The front of its forehead caves inward under the force of the blow, expelling the left eyeball. It dangles from the optic nerve as the zed collapses into the puddle its been standing in. Clouds of blackish grey fluid mix with the chocolate brown of the muddy rain water.

I hear a high pitched grunt followed almost instantaneously by the dull ‘thunk’ of a bat landing solidly on something fleshy and hard. I don’t have time to look up because the zed at my feet is beginning to thrash in the puddle. I stamp on the side of its neck as I flip the crowbar around. I plant the straight end into its right ear and place the palms of both my hands on the hooked end. With my elbows locked, I lever my feet off the ground. The crowbar settles downward incrementally for a split second, but then the skull gives way under my body weight. The shaft plunges down another half a foot, staking the thing’s head to the muddy bottom of the puddle. The water has changed color to an oily gray hue.

I hear scrambling and a rapid staccato of grunts from Zoey as I look up. The female zombie is on the ground, pedaling around in a circle on its side. Zoey is side stepping around the flailing zed in her own circle, just ahead of its grasping arms. She's repeatedly bringing the bat down on its head. The two are engaged in a bizarre sort of break dance. This shouldn’t be entertaining, but I pause there to watch the spectacle, casually leaning on my crowbar like it’s a cane, still protruding out of the side of the male zombie’s skull.

Zoey’s making a real mess of it. She keeps hitting it, but can’t seem to finish it off. Tissue, bone splinters and pulpy liquid are spraying everywhere; her pants are beginning to look like a Jackson Pollock drip painting. Finally, the female zed’s movements become slower and less coordinated until it convulses once and abruptly lies still.

Zoey hasn’t seemed to notice. She’s still wailing away at the inert, pulpy mess on ground until I walk up to her and grasp her arm as she again raises the blood stained bat over her head.

“Zoey? “ No response, other than fighting against my grip to swing the bat down yet again.

“Zoey! You can stop now. I think it might be dead.”

Zoey releases the bat, letting her shoulders sag as she stands there, panting.

“I didn’t realize how much I hated these things until I had the chance to kill one,” she explains, still staring at the corpse, now barely recognizable as a former human being. “Once you get started, it’s hard to stop.”

She looks up to me, I see specks of brain matter on her cheeks, in her hair. “Bill, I think maybe I enjoyed that. A little bit.” She looks stricken.

I put my arm around her and draw her to my chest. “Same thing happened to me, Zoey.” I say, thinking of that one zombie behind the office building. The first one I could kill at my leisure. “But you do get over it. Trust me, it gets old real fast.”

I glance down at the wrecked corpse at our feet. It’s wearing some sort of house coat with large front pockets. A folded piece of paper is sticking out of one of them. Zoey sees this too because she stoops down to fish it out. She unfolds the paper and begins to read. Abruptly she drops it onto the ground and staggers to the fence alongside the alley. She doubles over the top and vomits into the yard beyond. When the sound of retching ceases, it’s replaced with sobbing.

I reach down and pick up the muddy paper. It’s a letter, dated just three days ago. In tight, neat cursive writing, it begins with ‘Dear Sue and Phil’ and ends with ‘In love and friendship, Mary Sturtevant’. I turn around and consider the male zombie behind me. I look down again at the female zombie Zoey has just dispatched. Did some echo of a human memory keep these two zeds in close proxmity to each other for the past three days? What exactly are these things when we kill them? Does some shred of humanity yet linger?

I join Zoey at the fence, rubbing her back. But I don’t know what to say.

[majorhavoc]

We advance another block, encountering no additional zombies but plenty of evidence of Gavin’s explorations. The extent of his foraging is remarkable. He had to have encountered zeds, probably on a daily basis. Frank said that kid went out day after day. All he ever carried was the baseball bat. How he survived for so long on his own is almost inexplicable. I realize I briefly knew what may be the bravest man I’ve ever met.

And I’ve known plenty of brave men in my life.

We’re within two blocks of Court Street when I motion Zoey to stop. “This is killing me, Zoey. Let’s check out one of these houses.”

We walk up the drive of a particularly nice two story cape with a detached garage. The pavement of the driveway extends as a walkway between the house and garage, leading into the back yard. We cautiously follow it behind the house. The back yard is dominated by an in ground swimming pool, drained of water. Dried leaves and other detritus are accumulating on the bottom. A few straggly weeds are growing out of the thickest piles at the deep end.

“It almost looks like we could fill it up, go for a quick dip, huh?” I say, imagining this pool full of water, kids and family splashing around, enjoying the last warm days of the swim season.

“I can’t even remember what it feels like to get my whole body underwater. ” Zoey responds, sitting down at the pools edge, dangling her feet into the empty pool. ”I mean, after two weeks of sponge baths, even a cold shower would feel like an exotic luxury. “

I open the side door leading into the garage. Whatever car occupied this space is either long gone, or never came back. A riding lawn mower is parked in the back corner, in front of a wall of hanging rakes and shovels. The entire back wall is taken up by a workbench, scattered with tools. A chain saw, weed whacker and three gas cans are lined up neatly underneath the bench. I walk over and tap each gas can gently with my boot. I hear sloshing in each.

“Maybe we should think about finding a vehicle, Zoey. A four wheel drive truck of some sort. If we could gas it up in town, load up some spare fuel and bring along a siphon, we might be better off than traveling on foot. “

We check the house next. Inside, it looks just like any home would at mid day, kids in school, parents at work, the darkened interior waiting expectantly for its occupants to return. Yet there’s an oppressive emptiness to it; it somehow feels even more hollow and vacant than if its owners had moved out with all their furnishings, leaving behind only empty rooms. There’s almost a plaintive yearning to its abandoned state, as if it’s beckoning for someone to come back.

We find the kitchen and I immediately open up the cabinets. Rows of canned goods, dry mixes, pasta, rice and crackers. Jackpot.

I catch Zoey out of the corner of my eye, advancing towards the refrigerator. “No Zoey! Don’t -”

Too late. She tugs the refrigerator door open, immediately flooding the kitchen with an overpowering stench of rotting food. Zoey slams it shut. I fight back the urge to retch all over the kitchen floor.

“Yech! Oh my God! Ugh, that was a mistake! Sorry Bill.”

I lean forward over the kitchen sink and open the windows, gasping at the flood of fresh air. “It’s OK, Zoey. But you just have to let go of the idea of fresh food. Not unless it’s something we grow or hunt ourselves. Those days are long gone.”

“Yeah," Zoey says, wistfully. "I mean, I know that and all, but even now, standing here in a perfectly ordinary kitchen, you can almost forget any of this shit ever happened.”

[majorhavoc]

We grab a few choice packages and cans of food and stuff them into our backpacks. Enough for a celebratory dinner tonight, but not too much to slow us down. We plan on coming back.

We turn left after emerging from the front door, heading down the sidewalk towards the “T” intersection visible another two blocks down the street. Court Street. From that corner up there, we should be able to see our objective.

When we’ve gone another half a block, we pass a sloping driveway on our left leading up into an open garage. The car is gone but in its place is a child’s toy car, the red plastic kind with a yellow roof, big enough for a child to sit in and scoot themselves along with their feet.

“A Cozy Coupe!” Zoey says wistfully. “I had one of those when I was a little! Bill, I love those things!” She advances up the driveway. “Isn’t it cute the way it’s parked there in the garage, like a real car?”

I’m turning to follow Zoey when she stops, tilts her head slightly and stares quizzically into the dim interior of the garage. I scan the interior, but see nothing threatening, just the Cozy Coupe.

And what looks like a large doll sitting inside it.

The Cozy Coupe lurches, and slowly begins to emerge from the garage. I can hear feet scraping along the pavement beneath it and as it advances from the shadows, I see a tiny figure inside. Darkened eyes, its chin and the front of its shirt stained dark brown. A cloud of flies hover all around it.

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” Zoey says, backing up. “A zombie kid?”

The coupe continues to advance out of the garage. When it reaches the apex of the sloping driveway, it begins coasting down towards us, picking up speed. Above the chattering of plastic wheels on pavement, I hear a high pitched hiss.

“Yeeeaaagghhhhssssssshhhh!”

“Fuck me!” Zoey yelps, turning in terror. “It’s a freaking undead toddler!”

I grasp Zoey by her upper arm and hurry her across the mouth of the driveway to the sidewalk on the other side. We’re walking on briskly as the Cozy Coupe and it’s hissing occupant rattle by behind us, out into the street.

I’m backing up now, having turned to face it, ready with the crow bar. I expect that thing to emerge from the riding toy and pursue us on foot. Instead, the Cozy Coupe makes a tight left hand turn and starts advancing in the street, angling back towards the curb. Towards us.

Its downhill momentum spent, the zed lurches along at a pace barely faster than a walk.

“Keep moving,” I say quietly to Zoey, turning away from it and hastening to a brisk walk. “I think we can easily stay ahead of it.”

“Why isn’t it getting out of the toy car, Bill? Why isn’t it attacking us?“

“I don’t know. I don’t know. This is the first zed I’ve met that isn’t an adult.”

We’re walking by another pair of houses now, a double driveway passing between them.

“Shit, Bill!” I take my eyes off the pursing zombie toddler to see what’s spooked Zoey.

I follow her gaze to the top of the double drive. Two small figures, dressed in identical bloody pink dresses, are holding the ends of a tattered jump rope. The jump rope is wrapped around the neck of a third child standing in between, clad in a yellow jumper. The middle girl is taller than the outer two and has adorable pigtails. The middle girl also has no arms.

The girls in pink dresses are slowly, ineptly swinging the jump rope, completely out of synch. It merely swings and tugs at the middle child’s neck. As they do this, they’re hissing and growling more or less in unison, in high-pitched, almost sing-song voices. The middle child is rhythmically bobbing up and down, its feet remaining planted on the ground. It‘s repeatedly dipping at the knees and straightening up again, simulating the act of jumping.

The middle child abruptly stops moving and glares at Zoey. The look I see on the zed’s decomposing face is what I would imagine an unruly child might give to a particularly despised babysitter.

It begins to advance towards the two of us, but its forward progress is slowed by its apparent need to resume that rhythmic up and down movement. The other two child zeds only become aware of the new circumstances when the jump rope, still wrapped around the middle zombie’s neck, begins tugging in their hands. Only then do they turn to follow, still clutching and swinging each end of the jump rope, hissing and groaning in rhythm.

Cozy Coupe zed is now catching up because it has abandoned scraping along the raised curb; instead scooting up the mouth of the driveway, towards the sidewalk Zoey and I are on. We hurry forward, glancing nervously back over our shoulders as all four miniscule zombies fall into line on the sidewalk behind us. We’re a block and a half away from the intersection with Court Street.

“Bill, is this freaking you out as much as it is me? Because this is like, ‘off the charts' weirdness.”

“Yeah, I guess this is rather disturbing. But what really worries me is that we can’t have these things trailing behind us when we get to Court Street. They’re beginning to make a racket!”

We’re approaching a four way intersection, the last residential block before Court Street, when I look to my left and notice two more child zeds, half way down the block. One is on a scooter, another on a Big Wheel. They immediately spot us, turn and beginning rolling in our direction.

[majorhavoc]

“New plan, Zoey. Turn right. Let’s lead them away from the Shake 'n Bake and try looping around the block. Maybe we can lose them!“

We turn right and cross the intersection as the six child zombies converge on the opposite corner and turn to continue their dogged pursuit. I glace back and realize we’ve somehow picked up a second Cozy Coupe.

“Bill! Look out! I turn around in time to see another toddler zed coming down the steeply sloping grass lawn on my right. It’s hopping on one of those large red rubber balls, the kind with the looped handle on top. A Hippity Hop. The scowling and hissing toddler gets going too quickly though, and tumbles headfirst onto the concrete sidewalk, coming to a rest at my feet. I wind up with my right leg and punt the child out into the street, where it lands heavily, bounces twice and comes to a halt. A piece of something, I’m not sure what, has become detached and lies on the pavement next to it.

“Thanks Zoey. That was close!”

As we hurry forward I see the kid I just kicked out into the street begin to get up. It raises its butt until it’s standing on its two legs, folded in half with its head still on the ground. Only then does it unfold into a standing position. Instead of immediately turning to follow us, it scampers over to its Hoppity Hop, moving much faster than it could on its toy. There it climbs back onto the rubber ball and only then resumes its pursuit, hopping menacingly towards us.

I’m not positive but I think we’ve got ten miniature zeds pursuing us now. Somehow a third Cozy Coupe and two more Big Wheels have joined the chase. The chorus of hisses, grunts and moans is growing in volume. One of them has some sort of bike horn back there, and he’s honking it alarmingly.

Of immediate concern is scooter zombie boy, who is revealing himself to be considerably faster than the rest of the child zeds. Even at our brisk jog, he’s gaining on us. We reach the next intersection and again turn right, now heading back in the direction we came from.

We’re nearing a car parked in a driveway with its hood propped open . Even in our urgent situation, it brings a faint smile to my face to realize it’s a lovingly restored 1968 Camaro. The Z28 model with the optional 396 cubic inch big block Chevy. My first car. They just don’t make anything like that classic Detroit iron anymore.

I’m awakened from my reverie by Zoey: “Bill, we have to deal with this now!” I turn to see scooter boy bearing down on us. The rest of the pack is more than a half a block behind.

I wind up the crow bar as he barrels towards me. I swing waist high for the little shit’s head. He’s moving faster than I realize and gets inside my swing. I do connect, but only with the part of the crowbar just ahead of my hands, and he plows into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

Now I’m pissed.

For the first time today I see a child zombie deliberately leave its preferred mode of transportation and lunge for me on foot. I catch it across the face with a back hand, but it keeps coming, bear hugging my left leg. I bring the curved end of the crow bar down on the crown it its head, but not before I feel the sharp pain of it burying its teeth into my upper thigh.

“Sonnofabitch!” I roar. Grasping it by the hair on the back of its head with my left hand, by its wet fleshy rump with my right, I lift it off my thigh and heave it into the engine bay of the Camaro. Its feet clip the support strut and the hood comes down with a crunch on top of the kid.

“Wow Bill, do you plan that?” Zoey asks, marveling that the zed is temporarily trapped.

“No,” I say, sprinting towards the car. “But I say ‘roll with it‘.” I rise out of my running crouch and jump upwards, twisting so I land sitting upright on the half closed hood. It crunches down violently beneath my ass.

I can feel it still moving, which further enrages me. “Oh, you have got to be kidding!” I holler, sliding off hood and raising it above my head.

The zed is splayed out on top of the engine, one of its arms bent at a grotesque angle, it’s left shoulder canted back in an unnatural position. It’s hissing menacingly as I swing the hood down heavily on the squirming child zed and quickly raise it up again. It’s left cheek has been driven into one of the valve covers, smearing facial skin and puss all over that beautiful chrome work.

I slam the hood again. I open it to see that thing has pivoted 90 degrees and is reaching out towards my crotch with its one good arm.

Down comes the hood again. A sickening crunch. I raise it a third time to see it's further spun around so now it’s facing to the left, its ruined right arm entangled with the spark plug wires. The really nice AC Delco set with the extra thick red cables that coordinate with the custom air filter housing this guy has.

Up and down the hood crashes open and closed. Each time revealing a split second snap shot of the zombie child with another crushed appendage, more tissue and bodily fluid staining the engine compartment. It’s like a stop motion video of something becoming progressively less and less recognizable as a former human child as it’s cubed and diced by the hard edges of the vehicle’s engine and drive train.

“This is so disturbing, Bill!” I hear Zoey say to my left.

“You’re telling me!”

SLAM!

“I mean, -”

SLAM!

“- the hood alone -”

SLAM!

“-on this thing -”

SLAM!

“-is worth at least -”

SLAM!

“-two grand!”

SLAM!

“What a waste!”

SLAM!

[majorhavoc]

I’m still not sure it’s dead when Zoey and I have to abandon the Camaro. The rest of the undead child posse is closing in. We reach the next intersection and Zoey begins to head straight across. “No Zoey! Turn right! I have an idea!

We’ve completing our circuit of the residential block when we reach the next corner. To the left is the direction we came from, to the right we will be retracing our steps towards Court Street. I turn to see the posse has just rounded the block behind us. I see a tricycle zed I hadn’t noticed before, and it's as though scooter boy has been resurrected, because I spot another zed on a scooter back there.

“Oh, come on!” Zoey yells to no one in particular. “Are they multiplying?” Then to me: “What are we waiting for, Bill?”

“Just making sure they all see us turn right.”

“Why? I thought you wanted to lose them.”

“New plan, Zoey. We need a more permanent solution. OK, they’ve all seen us, let’s get moving again.”

We run diagonally across the street, towards the house we stopped at to explore and pick up a few food items just 15 minutes ago. As we’re running along, it occurs to me that I’m moving much better than I was two weeks ago. I’m not even breathing that hard. I don‘t feel like I‘m on the verge of collapse like I did struggling across that grassy knoll. Odd.

We jog up the driveway and along the walkway along the side of the house. “In here Zoey!” I say, motioning to the side door of the garage. We rush inside and drop our weapons onto the concrete floor.

“Are we trying to hide, Bill?” Zoey asks, closing the door.

“No, leave that door open! Come grab one of these,” I say, holding up one of the gas cans. I grab the other two and we dash back out into the sunlight. We can hear a chorus of plastic wheels, grunts, groans, hisses and one incredibly annoying bike horn drawing near the front of the house, off to the right.

“This way!” I call over my shoulder, running into the back yard. I pitch the two gas cans into the pool and follow them into the shallow end. “That one too, Zoey!”

“Bill, what the hell?” Zoey says, dropping the third can into the pool and beginning to climb in.

“No! You stay out!” I yell, opening the first of the cans, splashing the contents out onto the dried pool bottom. “Look for another way out of this yard, just in case!”

Emptying even a half full gas can is an excruciatingly slow process when you’re in a hurry. I’m only opening the cap to the second can when Zoey reappears above me at the edge of the pool.

“No good, Bill! The privacy fence runs all the way around! The only way out besides by the garage is through the patio doors!”

“No, that won’t work!” I say, pouring the contents of the second can into the pool. “If we’re over there, that’ll just draw them along the side. We have to keep this pool between us and them! Go back to the garage and see how close they are!”

Zoey trots off but almost immediately I hear a half gasp, half scream. “They’re here, Bill! They’re coming up the driveway!”

Shit.

I drop the second can and heave the third one out of the pool at the deep end, near the corner diagonally across from paved walk way by the garage. “OK, Zoey, open up that last can and start pouring it into the pool!”

I start making my way back to the shallow end to climb out. That’s when I see scooter girl round the corner and come into the back yard, closely followed by the first of the Big Wheels.

Oh fuck.

I retreat back into the deep end. There’s a swim ladder hanging on the far edge of the pool in the deep end. It extends down about half way to the bottom. Zoey sees it too and starts to make for it above me. “I’ll help pull you up, Bill!“

I sprint to it, jumping to grab it as high as I can. I’m shocked that my jump carries me up past the third rung from the bottom. I’m even more surprised to find I’m able to pull myself high enough to get a purchase on the lowest rung with my right foot. I haul myself out of the pool before Zoey even has a chance to help me.

“Not bad, old man,” Zoey says, opening the third can.

I straighten up in time to see scooter girl and then Big Wheel tumble into the pool. The second of the Big Wheels rounds the corner into the back hard. “Over here, Zoey,” I call urgently, beckoning her to move closer to the far corner at the deep end. “Don’t even let them think about coming around it!”

Zoey’s sloshing the contents of the third can into the deep end, gasoline splashing and flowing down around the bottom. The second Big Wheel and then tricycle boy somersault into the pool. Scooter girl is standing her scooter upright on the pool bottom and mounting it again.

Like lemmings they each round the corner, another Big Wheel, then a scooter that I hadn’t noticed before. The three jump rope girls. Then the first of three Cozy Coupes. In all, 11 zombies drop over the pool’s edge at the shallow end. A few sustain some injuries, but most seem unaffected. All climb back onto or into their conveyances and attempt to somehow scoot, pedal or bounce their way through or up the pool wall at the deep end. Doggedly trying to get to us standing in plain sight above them.

The last of gasoline splashes onto Hippity Hop’s head. The jump rope girls have stopped trying to climb out and have instead spread out at the deep end. The armless middle zed begins bobbing up and down again, while the two outliers resume swinging each end of the rope, still wrapped around the third’s neck, groaning and hissing rhythmically.

I pull the matchbook from my breast pocket and thumb open the cover. With the same hand, I bend the match around to the striker, leaving it attached. With a practiced, almost unconscious motion, I thumb it alight and tip it until the rest of the matches flare.

I’m not even breathing hard. I think to myself. This day is certainly full of surprises.

Not the least of which is that I’m now dropping a lit book of matches into a gasoline drenched pool full of children.

Not children. I remind myself. These are the undead, and they very much want to dine on our flesh.

I step back to avoid the rising flames. My last glance below is an image seared in my memory, like a foul taste that can never be completely washed away. Small figures pedalling, scooting, bouncing madly around and around in the flames, and three little girls ablaze, playing jump rope right in the middle of a fiery hell.

[kaijafon]

holy crap!


good stuff

[Tendrax]

Huh, I think I know why there aren't any kid zombies in the game. Little too creepy/sad.

MOAR! Lol.

[MaconCJ7]

Very good additions!

[ForgeCorvus]

Right then, I've read these last few posts both before and after Crashpocalypse struck.

Its still creepy as hell
Havoc. You sir, are either a sicko or a genius...........or maybe a sick genius .
Whatever you've got, I'm buying.......MOAR !