Best New Zombie Tales Trilogy (29 page)

Today, as of nine am, restoration of the Brickner Laboratories has begun. The first layer of foundation has been poured as the work crews ready to frame the new building.

* * *

Virginia sighed before crumbling the newspaper and tossing it into the kitchen trash bucket. Standing in front of the sink, the faucet dripping sporadically, she stared out into the backyard. Her eyes traced the brick structure that loomed at the far end of the yard, poised just before the wheat fields that seemed to stretch on forever.

Richard had it built six months after the plague-virus struck the country. Just in case, he said. You never knew when it would be necessary. Better to be prepared than be stupid.Was that movement in the field? Had there been a glimpse of something, a shape, a shadow, sluggishly pushing through the wheat? Perhaps one of them, searching mindlessly, lumbering with primal response, propelled by basic motor functions with a single desire; destroy anything alive.

Virginia wasn’t sure and honestly, she didn’t care. To her right a strainer full of stainless steel pots sat drying. She caught her reflection in them as she turned to leave the sink. Her auburn hair was streaked with gray and the bun she tied it back with was becoming unraveled. Strands sprung from every side of her head and most times she would be aghast with this but now, it wasn’t worth the effort.

Bags wore heavy beneath her blue eyes and there was a sadness in them, that of a life gone by, of a world gone to hell. She was tired, tired of it all.

Her thin hands took hold of the yellow apron she wore and rubbed it swiftly. Removing the apron, she threw it over the pots and pans, hiding the image of herself she could no longer bear to see.

Shaking her head, she walked to the fridge and retrieved the pitcher of iced tea; the sound of the ice cubes jingling around in it annoyed her.

Handing him a tall cold glass, she sat in the rocking chair across from him. Taking a sip he grinned widely at her. “Thanks babe.”

She hated that grin. Even more, she hated when he called her babe.

Twenty-two years of cooking meals, scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets, sewing torn trousers and loose buttons, bringing glasses of iced tea and hearing the words “thanks babe” in return and what did she have to show for it?

Nothing. Not a shred of fulfillment, her entire life had simply passed her by and she was tired, oh so tired.
My soul is empty,
she thought.
I am so drained. I might as well be one of them out there.

It wasn’t as if Richard was a bad man. He had never laid a hand on her or even raised his voice. There again, that was part of the problem. He was so nonchalant about everything, never growing angry, never getting riled up, never getting depressed. It was as if there was no emotion at all. Show something Goddamn it, anything! Show that you’re moved by something.

If only he had wanted children. She craved to be a part of something bigger, to give a part of herself to something that would grow and bloom rather than remain in servitude to someone so occupied with themselves.

Children were out of the question. For God’s sake, they might have taken some of the attention away from him. A wife’s duty was to her husband he believed firmly. The subject was closed.

For another hour she sat mute in her chair, rocking steadily as Richard remained fixated on his shows. Even they were all the same, pointless and dull.

How did I marry such a boring man?

Virginia could barely stand to look at him now as her eyes tried to find something, anything else in the room to stare at.

“Babe, could I get another iced tea?”

The rocking chair stopped in mid rock, the voice drilled through her and she crinkled her nose with disdain. She had had about enough.

Getting up, she walked over to his outstretched hand and took the glass without saying a word.

Virginia stood in front of the kitchen window again and stared at the bricked furnace in the backyard. The bricks seemed to wiggle about as she watched them. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there but the call finally jarred her out of her trance.

“Ginny, where’s my tea?”

“Oh, it’s coming,” she mumbled.

She left the kitchen and walked down the hall. Into her bathroom she strolled and opened the vanity mirror before her. She avoided looking at her own reflection.

She grasped the prescription sleeping pills in her palm. She’d been using them for months now. Along with everything else she was having trouble sleeping as well.

She dropped the white powder into the tall glass, watching it dissolve. Grinding the pills actually took effort and this surprised her. Had she really grown so weak?

Handing Richard the glass she watched him grin that sickening, mocking grin of his and returned to her chair. She waited, studying his face, his hands, every line and wrinkle on him.

The moments passed and she watched as his eyes grew heavy and his head bobbed slightly.

Her chair rocked back and forth rhythmically, it seemed like an eternity before the pills took full affect but eventually they did.

The glass tumbled to the floor, half melted ice cubes rolling across the rug. His body slumped down in the chair, his head lobbing to one side.

She smiled. For the first time in so long she smiled. For a few minutes she sat there, without saying a word. She stopped rocking and stared at her slumbering husband. Even in his sleep he was totally aggravating.

Getting up she walked back to the kitchen, catching the backyard furnace in the corner of her eye, and stepped out onto the back porch. There was time now.

She basked in the gentle breeze that stirred, watching the wheat ripple. No rush, take everything slow. “Now it’s my turn to live,” she said. “No one will ever know. All I have to do is drag him over to it.”

Returning to the kitchen she searched the junk drawer in the far corner, finally discovering the box of long matches she’d been looking for.

She made her way towards the fireplace, clutching the matches tightly and looked down, its sooty opening like an ashen mouth yawning at her. They had only used it once, Richard insisted on roasting hotdogs in it. Just to see what it would be like. “No more orders, no more demands. It’s my time now.”

Bending, she began tossing pieces of wood into the furnace from the pile on the ground. From the indented shelf at waist level she grabbed the small can of charcoal fluid and squirt it generously over the wood.

With one strike the match ignited and without hesitation she launched it into the furnace.

A dull poof resounded in her ears. “I’ll just say he had a heart attack. Died in his sleep. Of course officer, you know the law. I had to get him into the fire as soon as possible… No one will ever know.”

Another smile drew on her face. It felt good. “My life again. Mine.” The fatigue was not as bad as before. Hope was returning. She could not wait to begin her new life. For the first time in years she was actually excited about something.

A scream escaped as she struggled to get out from under the undead stranger. His cold hands reached around her throat, the flesh hanging off in leathery ribbons as he gnashed at her with yellow and black teeth.

Many times he tried to bite into her throat or face but she had managed to swerve away from his snapping jaws, his torn lips twisted in some perverse smile. Bracing one arm against his head, she searched the ground. She eyed the woodpile beside her and with some luck felt one slip into her hand.

With one hard swing she connected with his head, splinters shattering, fragments of flesh with them. Managing to roll him off she stood up as he squirmed on the ground.

Her breath heavy, pulse racing, she tried to regain her composure while searching for something to aid her. A single pitchfork stood on the left side of the furnace. Grabbing it with both hands she waited for him to get up. She couldn’t believe it; she was actually fighting to stay alive. It felt wonderful.

The undead man stumbled to his feet, a low moan rising from him. Stammering for her, he raised his arms, his fingers wiggling like an infant begging for food.

The pitchfork plunged into his stomach, dark blood soaking his already torn clothes.

With one thrust she hurled him into the fire, letting the pitchfork fall to the ground. She ran her jittery fingers through her hair and untied it, letting it caress her shoulders.

Utterly proud of herself, Virginia began her trip back to the house. “It’s time Richard, time for things to begin again, fresh and new.”

The TV still buzzed in the distance as if nothing had changed. Leaning against the counter for a moment, she caught her breath. Pulling open the fridge she poured herself a glass of iced tea. Taking hearty gulps, she sighed. “Would you like some tea babe,” she mocked then laughed aloud. Her palm quickly covered her lips. “Shame on you, Ginny,” she giggled.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, after having taken a good hot shower, drying the beads of water from her flesh. This was going to be difficult. Richard outweighed her and was taller too. Physically and mentally she needed to prepare herself.

“Don’t wait too long,” she said. “Those pills won’t last forever.”

After dressing and pacing for a bit she decided to get it over with. The first thing she did when she walked into the parlor was turn the freaking TV off. What a TV junkie he was, day and night––my shows, my shows!

“Well Richard, thanks for all the years of boredom and misery. Don’t worry about me; I’ll be just fine. Don’t be concerned with the shell of a woman that you created.”
Just keep watching your shows and thinking about yourself. Yes, and thank you too for opting not to have kids, so thoughtful of you. I’m so glad I could be your drone all these years.

She let his feet drop to the floor with a thud and drew herself up to his face. She placed her hands on his chest and felt nothing. Moving to his face she noticed that it was slightly cold.

Did it really happen? No, it wasn’t the right time. I must have overdosed him or something,
she thought. “I don’t believe it. Richard, are you really dead?” She leaned her face down onto his chest and listened for a heart beat.

Nothing.

I really did it,
she thought with triumph, her ear still to his chest.
Well no matter, I still have to get you in the fire. Then it’s done. How long ago did you die? Wait, Oh God, how long––

She glanced up at the clock to see how much time had passed since his death and just then Richard’s eyes opened. There was a glassy look in them, a lifelessness that permeated them as he lifted his head and bit into his wife’s throat.

Her warm blood splattered his face, gushing into his mouth. Virginia’s wails filled the house until dwindling away to silence.

The two tumbled out of the chair and to the floor, Richard scrambled over her body, devouring bits and pieces of her and pulling her innards out like a kid playing in the mud.

Moments later Richard shuffled out onto the back porch. His dead eyes glanced at the fire burning in the furnace at the end of the yard. Moaning softly, he turned and started towards the main street away from his home.

After an hour the quiet of the house was broken by the stirrings of clumsy movement. The porch door flung open and the undead Virginia stepped out. Finally she was able to start her new life, even if it was in death.

After, Life

JEFF PARISH

Death. Darkness. Ralph’s entire world revolved around those two things. It had always been so, and he saw no reason to believe it would ever be otherwise. And yet, he expected more. He needed more. There had to be something beyond the corpse stench, the eternal night filling everything. Hadn’t there been more, once… before?

Before what?
He shook his head. If this had always been, how could there be a before? Ralph hammered a fist in frustration. A muffled thud answered.
Shouldn’t that hurt?
But what did it mean to hurt? Memory stirred, rose and sank beneath dark waves, offering only a bright glimpse of a brown-haired woman weeping at his side. He clutched his chest and nodded. That flare of remembered agony. That was pain.

Who was the woman?

He growled and tried to lash out. Questions provided their own pain. They droned and needled incessantly, but nothing he did could drive them away.

Something kept him from venting his anger. Every blow landed on a soft, yielding surface that boxed him in on every side. His hard-soled shoes drummed top and bottom. His fists beat a steady tattoo to either side. Even his head knocked on something when he tried to sit up. No matter how hard he struck, it failed to yield more than a soft thud. He tried to weep, but no tears came.

Vanessa cried enough for us both.

He twitched at the thought. Vanessa… was that the woman? It felt right. Another memory surfaced. The woman––Vanessa ––sobbing and begging: “Don’t leave me, Ralph. Never leave me.”