Zombie Crawl
- jamiecanosa
- Oct 21, 2014
- 13 min read
Welcome to the Zombie Crawl! Muahahahaha . . . Okay, was that a bit over the top? Oh well, tis the season, right?
And today, I get to host my stop on the Zombie Crawl Blog Party. Each day you get a chance to check out new blogs and read awesomesauce zombie related posts. AND you get to enter to win some pretty great prizes! Don't foget to hop back on over to Band of Dystopian for the grand prize giveaway.
So, let's get to it. My most popular work happens to be in the contemporary genre, but I bet a lot of you didn't know I also have a short story published all about . . . you guessed it ZOMBIES!!!! Because who doesn't love zombies???
Well . . . maybe not Callie and Josh.
Zombies suck. Seriously. For the past year they’ve been making Callie’s life a living hell, and things are only getting worse. With the undead population on the rise and supplies becoming scarce something needs to give. When rumors of an enclave that’s safe and well stocked reach Callie and her neighbor Josh, they decide to brave the dangerous streets in search of some long lost peace. Will it turn out to be everything they’ve ever dreamed of, or will it be, as Callie fears, too good to be true?
Here's a sneak peek at Chapter 1:
I slid under the kitchen table and held my breath. The damn thing was in the house. Unbe-freaking-lievable. Anyone with half a brain would have actually brought the shotgun downstairs with them this morning, but oh no, not me. Now I was destined to be that cliché dumb blonde in every bad horror flick ever made, who goes running up the stairs when she should be heading out the front door. Except this wasn’t a movie. This was my life, and here the front door may actually have been the stupider of the two options.
A low, guttural groan came from the living room. It was getting closer, sniffing me out like some kind of macabre bloodhound. Well, not me in particular, that would really suck, just fresh meat in general. Any uninfected tissue was like a beacon to those things. It continued towards my hiding spot, bumping off of every object in its path and sending who knows what crashing to the floor. I was going to have to thank it later . . . with a shotgun round to the face.
Shuffling into the kitchen, it headed straight for me. Shoot, this was not working. Thanks to their super sniffers, hiding was about as useful as screaming like a little girl. Pathetic. I leaned back on the palms of my hands and thrust my legs forward as hard as I could. A kitchen chair went flying, hitting its mark with impressive precision. The wretched thing stumbled backwards and slammed into the counter. I didn’t stick around to see what it was going to do next. I shot like the bullet I was so desperately seeking up the stairs and down the hallway to the second door on the right.
My vision swept over the pig-pen in front of me. How exactly was I supposed to find anything in this mess? Great, my tomb stone could read Here Lies Callie Winter. Died Because She Was a Slob. On my second panicked sweep, the black metal barrel caught my eye propped between my bed and the wall. Great place for it.
I lunged for the bed just as the door slammed open behind me. One thing these things were not was subtle. It was a man in his late forties, or at least it had been at some point. Now he was nothing other than a carrier. His left leg was bent out at an awkward angle but he didn’t seem bothered by it. Nor by the sunken eye socket in his face. Long, gaping sores ran along his flesh which was blackened in some areas and his lower jaw hung oddly from the rest of his skull. Yeah, this guy, whoever he was, was long gone now.
All that remained was the damn parasite that came from God only knows where. We never had a chance to actually figure that much out before it ceased to really matter anymore. Half the population was infected, and the rest of us were just trying to survive. There was a technical name for it, of course. Something with a hundred letters that ended in itis and was utterly unpronounceable, but everyone who wasn’t a doctor or scientist simply referred to it as the ‘Zombie Disease.’ Easier to say, and let’s face it, that’s exactly what it was. It wormed its way into a host through any kind of exchange of bodily fluids and in essence took control. It started with a headache, nothing more serious than a migraine, and then progressed to full blown hallucinations. The final straw was the sores, raw bloodied sections of skin where the infection had already begun to eat away at the host from within in a matter of hours. The person the host used to be ceased to exist as the parasite used their animated corpses, all the while munching away on their brains like an in-flight snack. That was a major part of its genius. Shooting an invading parasite would be easy enough, but shooting a parasite masquerading as a loved one—your mother or brother? That is infinitely more difficult. Turns out we were our own worst enemies.
The zombie stumbled around behind me as I scurried across the cluttered floor. Rule number one when facing one of these suckers . . . well, that was never to face one without a weapon. So much for that rule. But rule number two I planned on following. Always keep your eyes on your opponent. The only way to make sure it didn’t get close enough to infect you was to stay out of its reach. Hard to do if you’ve managed to trap yourself in a small bedroom, but even harder if you don’t know precisely where the thing is at all times. That’s why I was backing away from it, reaching out behind me to feel for the gun and coming up short. The only thing I did manage to find was my bed post when I rammed my pointer finger right into it causing pain to shoot up my arm.
It continued tripping over everything in its path as I fumbled up onto the mattress. Score one for the slob. Zombies may have been ruthless, disgusting, and damn near impossible to kill, but the one advantage we did have was they were also as dumb as bricks. All that brain damage had to count for something. I was almost there . . . almost. Something crashed downstairs. Another one? Today was not going to be my day.
“Callie!” Josh’s voice resonated up the stairs.
“Up here.”
A moment later the bedroom door burst open again and I used the distraction to glance behind me for the shotgun tucked against the wall. Josh lunged for the zombie wielding, no joke, a sword. Who did he think he was, Zorro? For crying out loud.
I yanked the gun loose as Josh took a swing at its neck, missing by millimeters. He repositioned for a back swing, but he was out of time. Zombies may be slow moving, but in such tight quarters speed didn’t count for much. It reached for Josh just as I pulled the trigger. The blast made my ears ring, and the kickback threw me into the headboard. Now it was hardly my first time shooting the stupid thing, but sprawled across a bed is not exactly an ideal firing stance.
I rubbed my soon to be bruised shoulder as Josh shook his head at the unmoving corpse near his feet. His dark, shaggy hair was falling over his face, making it impossible for me to gauge his mood. A thwack sounded from his side of the room and I glanced over just in time to see the things detached head roll across the room, coming to a stop beside my bed. That wouldn’t be the cause of any future nightmares or anything.
“You good?” Josh asked, wiping the blade on his pant leg.
“Fine.”
“So what the hell happened?”
“I’m not sure. I think it came in through the back door though.”
“Why was it up here?”
“It sort of followed me up here.”
“Why would you come up here, Cal? It’s not exactly prime fighting territory,” he noted, glancing around at our, let’s just say crowded surroundings.
“I might have left the gun up here.” I cringed as the words left my mouth.
Josh paused his inspection of my personal space to eye me with exasperated disbelief. Sure, like the samurai ninja warrior himself was so much better prepared.
“Well, what happened to your gun?”
“Ran out of bullets.”
“Again?”
“Yeah, Callie, these things have been coming around nonstop lately.”
“Maybe if you were a better shot . . .” I teased.
“You know, a thank you might be nice.”
“Yeah, it might. If anyone was doing the butt saving back there I think it was me. What are you doing here anyway?”
“I heard the alarm go off.” He scooped up the head and stuffed it into a plastic bag with a grimace.
Alarm. Sure, if that’s what you want to call the pitiable concoction of empty cans and old bells we had rigged all around our properties as a sort of early warning system.
“You up for a supply run today?” he inquired.
“I guess I could use a few things. Ya know, luxury items, like food and soap.”
“You get ready while I dispose of this thing.” He jerked his head toward the decapitated corpse stinking up my bedroom and its bagged head. “And, for crying out loud, don’t forget the gun.”
Ha-ha. I was never going to live that one down. Josh slipped his hands under the arms of the body and hoisted it up with a loud grunt. Why couldn’t it have been vampires or some other kind of monster that cleans up after itself in a neat little pile of dust when you kill them? No, we had to get zombies which just left putrid corpses behind to be disposed of.
“I can help.” I moved to assist him, but Josh snatched my wrist before I could touch the body.
“Cal, you’re bleeding!”
A slice ran along the inside of my palm from thumb to forefinger where the kickback made the gun shift in my grasp.
“Did it . . .” Josh trailed off, afraid to ask to obvious question.
“No. No, it’s from the gun,” I assured him. “I never came in contact with it.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” Concern creased his face and I could tell it wasn’t just because he was afraid I would turn into some raging lunatic and try to use him as a midday meal.
“Positive.”
“Okay,” he heaved a sigh of relief, “good.”
I could feel his eyes on my back like a couple of laser beams searing into my skin as I headed toward the bathroom to get cleaned up. I had a sneaking suspicion I’d be feeling his gaze on me for the rest of the day at least, but I couldn’t blame him. If I were him I’d probably have me tied up somewhere right about now, just in case.
I slammed the cold faucet on and doused my hand, angry at myself for being so careless. An open wound was nothing to mess with these days. A single drop of their blood or saliva touched it and I was done for.
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Josh chided, stepping into the bathroom behind me, “or it’s going to get worse.”
“Okay, Doctor Josh, what do you suggest? I’m washing it, aren’t I?” I snapped, more irritated with myself than him.
“Give me your hand.” He reached under the sink and pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. I squirmed anxiously, but he snagged my wrist and held it over the sink. “This is going to sting,” he warned.
Before I could even think about what he was going to do, he dumped a small amount of the clear liquid into my hand, where it bubbled and fizzed and stung like a mother. I clenched my teeth until I was sure I would crack one, but still a small squeaky sound escaped. It was completely mortifying. Josh glanced up at me, pressing his lips together, fighting back an amused grin. So glad he found my pain entertaining.
“Baby,” he teased under his breath, and I smacked him on the back of his head with my free hand. “Keep still. We need to wrap this.”
I rinsed the remaining torturous liquid from my hand while he rooted around in the cabinets. They were well-stocked. I had the forethought to pay a visit to the local pharmacy and stock up not long after all of this had started. Josh pulled out a roll of gauze and some medical tape. Gently, he pulled my hand away from my chest where I had been cradling it and proceeded to wrap most of it in several layers of white bandages. It might have looked like overkill, but I knew better than to argue. Extra layers meant extra protection and there was no reason to take chances.
***
The neighborhood was like a ghost town. Spooky. Bikes and children’s toys lay abandoned in yards. Cars sat in their driveways just waiting for their owners to return. Everything felt so normal, and yet so . . . wrong. The owners were never going to return. Most of them anyway. I couldn’t be sure how many people still lived in the area since everyone basically kept to their houses, afraid of what was outside their doors, but if I had to guess, I’d say not many. At first, I had run into people here and there out on supply runs, but in the past couple months I hadn’t seen another living soul, besides Josh obviously. He was always nearby, like right now. We walked side by side, silently down the sidewalk, both of us on high alert, our eyes and ears on the lookout for any signs of trouble. Shockingly, we actually managed to make it there without finding any.
We had completely lucked out having a wholesale club less than five blocks from the house. It had been our main source of supplies since everything had gone to hell. I snagged one of the carts scattered across the front of the store and pushed it down an aisle. One wobbly wheel squealed the entire way, veering me off in unwanted directions. Figured, I could take out a zombie no problem, but shopping carts continued to thwart me. Growling under my breath, I yanked the uncooperative hunk of metal back to the left and headed for the grocery section. Josh had already taken off for sporting goods to raid whatever was left in the ammo lockers.
The store was just as strange as the rest of town. Nothing had happened the way I had expected. When word finally spread that the stores were closing up shop there wasn’t mass panic. No mob of psychopaths looting or vandalizing, setting fires in the streets like you see in all of those end-of-the-world movies. Everything had changed so gradually, everyone was still busy just trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Overall, people remained pretty civil.
I was there with my brother the day a group of about fifty or so of us stood around in the parking lot debating whether or not we had the right to break into the store. In the end it was decided that the Constitution gave us the right to life and if that meant busting through some locked doors and taking what we needed to survive then so be it. Some people actually left money for what they took. Mom and dad were already gone by then and it wasn’t exactly like we had a lot of cash just lying around the house, so we just took the supplies we needed. It wasn’t like anyone was actually going to use the money anyway.
Since that first day everyone continued to come and go, taking only what they needed when they needed it. The fact that any supplies still remained on the shelves at all was a testament to our enduring humanity. Even so, a store supplying who knows how many people but not receiving any more shipments? Needless to say, pickings were slim. What we were going to do in another month or two was beyond me, but we’d cross that bridge when we came to it. We had too many problems in the present to worry about the future.
There was one, slightly battered box of cereal left on the shelf. I scooped it up and flipped it over, examining the cover. Count Chocula. Some twisted part of my brain found that amusing. I snorted as I tossed it in the cart. The drink aisle was completely bare. Not a single can or bottle left in sight. Not surprising. Everyone worried about when the water plant would shut down. I moved on, carefully avoiding the refrigerated section which smelled like several large animals had curled up and died ever since the power had gone out. Several minutes later I glared at my pathetically empty cart. Only a couple cans of soup, a package of crackers, a few cans of vegetables, the box of cereal, and one rare find – a jar of cherries. Guess we were going to have to make it last a while.
Josh caught up with me and the look on his face made it obvious he hadn’t fared much better. He waved two boxes of rounds at me and my stomach plummeted.
“That’s it?” I asked, sincerely hoping he was joking.
“That’s all of it.”
Great, at the rate things had been going lately that wouldn’t last us a month. To make matters worse, both boxes were birdshot, not exactly ideal for hunting zombies, and apparently they were all out of rounds for his bolt action hunting rifle. That meant we were down to one gun between us. Things were going to start getting bad, and soon.
“Alright, we’ll have to make a trip to the mall then.”
It wasn’t ideal. The mall was pretty far on foot and traveling anywhere was a risk. That’s why we’d only made the trip a couple of times, but hopefully there would still be more supplies there.
“We’ll have to go soon, before everyone else has the same idea.”
I wasn’t really sure how many other people we were talking about anymore, but he was right. Better safe than sorry. It was already too late to make the trip today. Being out during the day was risky enough, but after dark it was just suicidal. Relying mainly on their sense of smell, the darkness had little effect on the zombies, but it was a definite handicap for us and giving them any advantages was just plain stupid.
Josh slipped the pack off of his back and dropped the ammo boxes inside. He reached for one of the cans in the cart next and froze. I heard it at the same time. Groans. A chorus of them. Loud and close. When I remembered to take another breath, I raced down the aisle and peeked around the corner. Crap. We were so screwed.
Want to read the rest? Well, for today (October 22) only you are ALL winners here. Hop on over to Amazon and grab your copy of Our Own Worst Enemies for FREE!
Late to the party??? No worries. You can enter to win a digital copy by heading on over to my Facebook page and giving it a like, then comment below to let me know you did. A random winner will be chosen on Nov. 1. Good luck!!!
Don't miss the rest of the Zombie Crawl Blog Party Schedule:
Party Host & Grand Prize: Band of Dystopian
October 22
October 23
October 24
October 25
October 26
October 27
October 29
October 30
Comments