Part 5 (Page like 6 and 7 out of 40)

Alright everyone, sorry about the length of time inbetween this post and my last. I've been busy working out the job situation and I'm pleased to announce I am currently employed again; woo for not starving! Alright folks, as a token of my deepest appologies I'll give you a bit more of the story then I usually do in one post...enjoy!

“Seriously, fuck my life,” I froze, waiting for my eyes to adjust, hoping that those bastards couldn’t see any better in the dark than I could. As my pupils widened I realized that there were moon windows and a faint stream of moonshine was flowing into the building. I literally tip-toed to the water, and quietly began to fit as much water as I could into the bag. I kept glancing around; there was no blood over there too meaning my theory of what happened was more than likely right. The light from the moon was reflecting off the polished linoleum, and it freaked me the hell out. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, something shifted, “fuck fuck fuck,” I grabbed the shotgun and placed it in front of me as I finished loading the water. The bag was impossibly heavy now and I was leaning over just trying to carry it and shoulder the weight. Something else moved across the aisles, I knew it had to be one of them, but what the hell were they doing? I started to panic and forgot about my original escape route and just started heading down the main aisle to the exit instead of circling around. I realized my mistake as I arrived at the row of registers and began to head for the exit. I heard something fall; I realized later that they must have knocked over some cans of food as they tried to all come at me at once. I grabbed the gun out of the bag and put it underneath my right arm and began to walk backwards dragging the bag in front of me, big mistake. It jumped onto my back snapping at my head, digging its fingernails into my arms. You see, I couldn’t smell them then; they had just turned and hadn’t begun to rot. I felt the sticky mess of blood on its hands as it continued to latch on to me, trying to bite me. It swung its feet around my waist and I felt its muscles working as it dug its heels into my body. The gun was still underneath my arm, the zombies grip on me held it tight. I tried reaching for it but I could only move my forearms while at the same time constantly whipping my head around avoiding its foul breath and bloody teeth. I used my right forearm and kept slapping the barrel of the gun, slapping it down trying to angle it so I could pull it out from my forearm. There was a wall close so I started backing up as it continued to thrash, I knew it was close so I launched my body backwards towards the wall slamming it and myself into the wall. The impact caused it to loosen its grip while it tried to move around and take a bite. I grabbed the gun and felt the quickly-becoming-familiar feel of the trigger against my index finger. I angled the barrel against my shoulder and fired. The sound was deafening and my hearing disappeared as the shell hit the zombie in the shoulder and throat. It lost its grip and I staggered up, never letting go of the gun. I pumped it and fired again, this time its head opened up like a deep red firework against the night sky. Its body convulsed for a second then ceased and lay there, dying for the second time that day. I quickly pulled out four shells from my pocket and reloaded, pumping the gun hoping I didn’t need it. I grabbed the bag and started to try and run and drag it at the same time; the blood on the ground helped it slide along. The lights came back on, and then I saw them, three of them coming towards me, trying to run but lack of balance made it look as if they were jogging with stiff knees. None-the-less they were fast and I only managed to get a round off that hit one in the right shoulder ripping its arm off, but it kept coming. Before I could get another round off the fastest one lunged at me and I lunged to the left. I slammed the same elbow, my left elbow, on the ground I had earlier and screamed out in pain. All three moaned back as the other two caught up and turned to lunge. I pulled the gun up, pumped, aimed, and destroyed the entire skull of one of them, its knees collapsed and its body feel with a soft thud, cold juices leaked out of its throat. I figured I had fractured my elbow, I could barely move my left arm and when I did pain shot up form my elbow to the shoulder. The other two, oblivious to their counterpart continued to come forward, silent and not breathing, each foot step pounding on the ground like my heart in my chest. My body was covered in blood and I tried to crawl away until I ran into the greeting calf. They were almost on top of me now, they both lunged and I kicked one in the face. As my shoe made contact it continued to try and bite me, ripping a chunk of plastic out of the sole. The other landed on my leg and began clawing at my calf, trying to get to the meat. I brought the barrel down on its head, but the thing didn’t even notice. So I brought the end of it to its skull, wondering if it felt the heat of the barrel against its cold flesh. I pulled the trigger and the skull looked as if it had imploded as the hot metal pushed the bone into the neck. Its cold bodily juices leaked onto my legs and into my shoes. The third one was still biting at my shoe, and had begun to move towards my ankle. I kicked it again and again, and it held fast biting and scratching. I pumped the gun, and brought the barrel closer to the back of its skull trying to avoid shooting down and into my foot. I pulled the trigger and the shell ripped the back of its skull off, brain exposed but no blood came out. The thing continued to try and bite for a few more seconds, until the exposure to air destroyed the brain and it ceased to exist, for the second, the final (hopefully) time. I propped myself up on my right arm, trying not to pass out from the pain and from the smell of hot metal cooking flesh and boiling bodily fluids. I quickly realized I was out of shells and reloaded, four more in, and another pump. I got up, as fast as I could and grabbed the bag, it was time to leave.

Part 4

I sat up, sputtering and coughing trying to hold down whatever was left in my stomach. Not the same could be said of the…re-corpse, the viscera of its abdominal cavity lay hanging, growing even colder, and rotting just as fast. I sat there trying to stand up, trying to stop shaking, trying to keep it together. The body lay there, leaning against the case, as if we were buddies, sitting and chatting face to…uh chin. The body fell over and I jumped, scared that perhaps it wasn’t finished with me yet. That made me move, those evil howls continued and the screams of the dying continued to reverberate off of the metal ceiling. I crabbed walked back, never letting go of the gun, never taking my eyes off of the slumped over torso. My clothes had turned into a sponge; I felt the absorbed blood travel from the cotton in my pants to the surface of my skin, dirty, cold, and sticky. I bumped into the camo bag, and I stood up, shaking and wet, alive but no longer living, existing. I shuffled a few more cases of shells into the bag and zipped it tight, realizing I had to take the same way out as I had come in, and I could only hope my car was still there. I grabbed the bag and slung it over my shoulder, stuffed my pockets with shells and reloaded the gun. I needed water, I had food in the house but I didn’t have any bottled water, now I needed as much as I could handle; so much for going green, in the end we all choose our own lives over that of the Earth. The screaming had stopped so had the blood coated vibrations of rotting vocal chords, “fuck me,” either they were all eating, or they had finished their meals. I figured out where I had to go; down past the electronics, past the shoes, through the baby clothes and into the aisle with all the bottle sodas and waters and whatever type of drink you could bottle. I decided to take the route around the counter since the slumped over chin proved that jumping the counter would probably be a mistake. I tried to avoid the glass while circumventing the blood painted on the floor. The bag was a lot heavier than I thought it would be, I was already out of breath and was only just passing through all the toys. I passed by the aisle with the gargling woman, but she was gone. Only a pool of blood and some strips of clothing remained, “that can’t be good.” I continued on, no time to pause and no time to think I just kept pumping my leg muscles and fighting my already aching back from the bag. At the electronics the lights above flickered for a minute, like a cheap strobe light at some haunted house. I passed by a rack of batteries and grabbed a couple packs of AAs and AAAs along with some C batteries. There was no blood on the floor back there, it seemed that those monsters hadn’t been there that long and when they did show up everyone must have tried running out towards the doors, “would I have done the same?” Everything was still on, and the two rows of TVs were looping some mix of clips that supposedly showed off the “true experience of HDTV,” the irony in that, nothing could be as real or as “true an experience” as those fucking things going for a 97 degree chunk of flesh. The set up displays of speakers were playing one of those collections of nature sounds, I remember wondering if all the way over there in the jungles the same crazy shit was occurring. I crept past the TVs and was serenaded by some tropical bird as I found myself navigating the shoes aisles. I remember wishing I had more room, more strength; an extra pair of shoes might come in handy. But I couldn’t waste the time trying to find a pair of shoes that fit and were comfortable, no time, even when the world was ending I still had no time. The cheap, thin carpet muffled my footsteps as the baby clothes area came into view and then semi-hid me as I continued shuffling towards the bottled water. I saw the aisle come into view, there was no short supply since there was no time for people to loot or stock up supplies, I glanced at my watch, and then the lights went out.

Part 3, (Yay Wal mart!)

Sorry folks, I was out of town for the weekend and didn't get a chance to post, here's the continuing story of Alan.

In front of me, two men were busy eating the large intestine of a Wal-Mart employee. They were hunched over the body, squatting over the corpse devouring the intestines like a family does a turkey at Christmas dinner. I began to back up, trying not to make any noise as they feasted and dined. I made a sharp left and ran around the two diners, passing a woman lying their bleeding from a bite mark to her throat. She didn’t scream, she couldn’t, there was a hole in the throat, all she could do was gurgle and gargle her own blood, weakly reaching towards me. I was panicking, I couldn’t help her, I couldn’t do a damn thing, and I had to get to the sporting goods area. Running, I tripped and I cracked my head against the hard floor, I lost consciousness for about 10 seconds. I woke up to the sound of screams, human screams, blood curdling, life ending screams. I ran for my life to the guns, and I made it. The case had already been smashed open, but no gun was missing, blood and scraps of skin clung to the shards. I grabbed an 8-gauge, pump-action shotgun and began to search for shells. I grabbed a camo-bag that was on the shelf behind the register and began to stuff it with cases of shells, just cases and cases. As the bag began to be filled I heard a moan close by, and a shuffling of feet. The moan began to rise in pitch, the shuffling growing louder, and faster. I looked up from the bag and through a kaleidoscope of various shades of red on broken glass I saw it coming for me. I paused, the totality of the situation hitting me in the face as the thing honed in on its prey. It was 4am; I was covered in blood and trying to pack in as many shotgun shells and bullets as I could into some hunting bag. I had been greeted by a decapitated and gnawed on calf, I had watched two men eat a woman’s intestines; I had watched a woman choke on her own blood and had been knocked out after slipping in a pool of blood. And now, now I was about to be attacked by a fucking…ZOMBIE! But that was as far as I got, before the thing began to run after me, when it bared its teeth like a rabies invested dog about to kill. I opened the barrel of the shotgun and loaded four shells and slammed it shut. As it clicked shut the zombie broke into a sprint and lunged over the counter.

I began to shift my legs, getting off my knees and trying to stand as I chambered the round. A jolt of ticklish fire shot up my right leg, “fuck fuck shit” my leg had fallen asleep while I was packing the shells. I saw, or rather heard the creature jump over the counter, its flesh scraping and peeling off on the jagged edges of glass. It screamed at me, beginning as a low hiss and crescendoed as a high pitch growl as it landed on top of me. As it breathed out, freshly acquired blood sprayed into my face, the smell of bile and feces poured from its mouth. I punched it in the face, twice, three times and then it snapped at my jaw. I tried shuffling back but its body weighed me down, continuing to snap at me as I pushed and squirmed. It snapped so hard it chipped its upper front tooth on its lower front tooth; it fell onto my arm, stuck there for a moment, clinging with the glue of drying blood and saliva. The shotgun was lying next to me, hugging my thigh as I fought back the bloody jaws. The zombie rose up, about to use its shear mass to overpower me and give it the momentum to tear into my jugular. But I was faster, I snatched up the shotgun, pulled it up as it began to fall its mouth open and saliva running. Its jaw dropped down onto the barrel, lips wrapped around the barrel, gnawing on the metal shaft. All the while it continued to scream, muffled ululations pressing against the unfired shell.  I pulled the trigger and screamed out as my elbow slammed into the ground from the report, “your meal-ticket has been punched motherfucker!” Its skull exploded, a shower of crimson and midnight sprinkled the area, a collage of shattered glass and brain splayed the gun case, the new campaign for gun safety.

A continuation of Alan's story

I screamed and slammed on the breaks, paying no attention to Steve Miller singing, “abra abra kadabra I wanna’ reach out and grab you,” through my speakers. The person just stood there, staring at me, a dull look in its eyes. It was a teenage girl, probably 17 or 18, wearing jeans and a band shirt, all adorned with blood. As I went for the door she took one last glace and lumbered off into the darkness. I sat there, trying to piece together what I saw, looking into the night for something to explain her condition. And then suddenly something hit the side of my car, “thud thud thud,” something banging against my drivers side door. I hesitated, inching my hand to the cab light switch, afraid and mentally paralyzed and yet my hand continued to move. And then, right as the light switched on she slammed her head against my window and it cracked and blood flowed into the spider web cracks. “Bam, bam, bam,” harder and harder she slammed her body against my door, growling and clawing at me, craving me, hungering for my flesh. I sat there and watched in macabre interest and a paralyzed fear as she continued to ram my car, no sign of pain, no sign of…life. I began to scream, to yell louder than I had ever yelled before, and as I yelled I slammed on the gas pedal, and sped away. In my red taillights I saw her chasing me; showered in red she ran and ran until she simply couldn’t keep up. I continued to drive and scream for about five minutes. I began to feel cold and found it hard to breathe; I pulled over, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. I sat there hyperventilating, the cab light on, shaking, as Steve continued to serenade me, “abra abra kadabra….” I began to calm down, not relax, but calm down. I couldn’t figure out, or decide what exactly had just happened. All I knew was that I needed a gun, and I needed food, and I needed to get home. As I entered town it was apparent that something was happening, the film had been replaced by mass hysteria. Cars overturned, people screaming and running through the streets. One woman was running down the street her scalp bleeding because something had managed to pull out half of her hair. Sirens could be heard throughout the city along with gunshots, a never ending volley of gunfire. I forsook my boycott of Wal-Mart and managed to park close to the entrance and ran into the store. Blood painted the floor, and all that was left of the nightly greeter was a cheap sneaker and part of her calf. I took one look and vomited all over the floor, a mixture of the earlier night’s dinner and stomach bile combined with the blood on the floor. Everything was on the floor, food, candy, everything, toys strewn about the entire store, painted in red. I began to run towards the outdoor section, almost slipping in the red muck but managing to keep my balance. I ran past an aisle with a bunch of towels where a middle-aged woman sat there, crying. She was hurt; it looked as if she had been attacked by an animal, as if she had been mauled by a dog, the image of the bloody girl flashed into my head. As I continued to run her sobs turned into screams and wails and I heard the same low pitched moans and screams that came from that girl, I quickened my already sprinting pace. As I rounded the corner where the electronics and toy sections intersected I froze.

"The Beginning" of the book

Alright folks, this is the beginning of the story, right after the intro finishes. Enjoy, let me know what you think, and if you want MOAR!

It was a cool summer night; I had the windows open and was naked except for a pair of boxers. I had a wife, before she decided to start fucking the manager at our local Wal-Mart, her name was Melly. She had gotten a seasonal position there the Christmas before, trying to make some extra money for presents and such for our boy, Nathan. Not like we needed the extra money, I am, well I was a psychologist, and a pretty damn fine one if I must say so myself. Wal-Mart took my wife and she took Nathan, while I got the house. I had only found out about a month before, and I had just started to become accustomed to sleeping alone, in a house devoid of any breath except my own and the whispering wind. Nathan was only 6, not accustomed to talking on the phone; my last conversation with him was at the court meeting in which the sexist judge sided with the power of estrogen and everyday low prices, instead of reason and logic. Oh well, that’s that, and I can only hope Wal-Mart man is some torso rolling around in the dirt; I can only pray Nathan is alive, if only praying seemed as effective as a round to those monsters’ heads. I kissed his forehead, told him to be strong (he was crying) I would see him soon; we would be together again soon. If only that promise, like every-other one made before that night, actually held weight, actually mattered to any person now self-aware. The air that night carried something sweet with it, some infectious chemical that seemed to overpower any-other smell. It literally stuck to everything; I remember tossing and turning from the overpowering humidity all-the-while breathing it in; waking up from nodding-off covered in moisture, thinking I was sweating. But it was so cool, such a perfect cool summer night. I remember turning on the light and feeling the moisture on the switch, it looked as if something was glossed over every surface in the room. It was almost if the walls were sweating; as if the walls and the sheets, the floors, and the lights all had pores and those pores had opened, pouring sweat from the intensive labor of keeping the house together. How eerie the sky-blue walls were as they gleamed in the moonlight. As if the Lowe’s trim was crying, weeping for its loss of its other two inhabitants. I remember standing, feeling the moisture squish between the pad and heel of my foot and the floor. Each step felt like a trek through lightly wet soil, soft and wet but not sticky. I walked to the generic white blinds (purchased at Target, since I was then boycotting Wal-Mart; as if my weekly 50 dollar grocery purchase really affected the company, but it was the principle of it damn it!) and pulled on the nylon string and felt the water it had absorbed through the night as I pulled up the blinds. It looked like a flood had passed through, or as if it had just rained a hard rain. Except, not a single thing was unsettled, everything was as it is when water is absent and things dry. But it looked wet; the entire world was glowing, as if glitter water had been painted over everything!  Nathan’s swing set did not move but glowed; the trees were still, but shone as if glazed over with a pearly coat. I remember being scared, as if this was a warning, Mother Nature was whispering, and I was praemonitus. My first instinct, like any person accustomed to modern living, was to turn on the TV. I flipped from channel to channel, watching as men and women with microphones were talking of a mass wave of high humidity that had appeared all over the world out of seemingly nowhere. Insomniac scientists, researchers, experts in every field that could possibly somehow have any chance of containing expertise on global waves of mass amounts of humidity were feeding bullshit into the camera, from global warming to the rapture, everything. And that’s what it all was, every interview, every sentence, every word, bullshit. As if carbon emissions had somehow caused nature to coat the world in a blanket of humidity; as if God had decided to bring hell on earth with a flood of moisture rich air. So I checked the web, I logged on and typed as the humidity never ceased, never continued to accumulate, just stuck to my computer’s keys like it stuck to my fingers. Besides the talking head’s spew of garbage there was a mass of blogs, news articles, and every other type of writing that had some theory, some explanation. But how were they, how were we to know what it really was, how were we to know what happened once it was absorbed through some open wound, if it was drank in a large enough quantity, from places such as personal wells and fresh water taps. We couldn’t have known, and it is because of this that everything became as fucked as it did. I spent an hour or so reading various theories: the end of days was upon us and all one had to do was drink and bathe in the humidity and Jesus would sweep you away to heaven. This theory alone explains why the infection spread as fast as it did; the religious fervor alone caused millions to indulge in the wave of moisture as much as they could. One man was postulating that it was some unknown chemical that had been frozen in the polar ice caps that had been exposed from such rapid melting, and hell, who knows, the bastard could have been right. But no one, not a single sole theorized about what it would do when ingested, when incorporated into the bloodstream. After reading every theory I could get my hands on I decided that whatever this was it wasn’t good and that maybe I should somehow be ready just incase I was right. I got dressed and decided to go buy some fresh water and a water pump, just incase it was found that whatever was happening did contaminate the water. I planned on buying some basic food supplies and some batteries, basic survival gear you know, because you never knew. My house was somewhere outside of State College, Pennsylvania, in a semi-rural area, and so it was about a 30 minute drive to the local grocery store. Half-way into town I realized that things were perhaps worse than I thought they were. I bent down to pop in some burned CD I had made the day before and when I looked back up at the road a person was standing there, with a deer-in-the-headlights look, covered in blood.