Zombie Anthology (20 page)

    
Greg looked out his view port, taking in the destruction surrounding them. “I don't know,” Greg said, “I think I'd rather be facing someone who could at least shoot back."

    
In the gunner's compartment, Harrison frowned while scanning the village for more targets.

    
Amrin watched the monster from the cover of the trees. Sweat glistened on his skin which was tinted a light shade of green as the hot blood of anger boiled inside his veins. Amelian stood behind him and placed a hand onto his shoulder. “Now is not the time,” she said quietly.

    
Amrin whirled around, slapping her hand away. “When will the time come, priestess?” he spat. He glanced around at his warriors. They stood tall and proud, unafraid of the monster which now sat motionless in the center of the village. “We are ready to die if need be. Tell us how to stop that thing and it shall not kill again."

    
Amelian felt her heart crumble inside her chest as he continued to rage.

    
"You are the voice of God, priestess! Surely, he has told you how to slay the beast. It can not be his will we all perish as the pink skins and their monsters take our world from us. Tell us priestess and let us carry out God's will."

    
Amelian looked away from the war chief, turning her eyes downward towards the ground. “There is a way,” she said in no more than a whisper, “but it is not permitted."

    
Amrin snarled grabbing the front of the black robes she wore and pulled her to him. He jerked her face up towards his own. “We are dying, Amelian. All of us."

    
He released her so quickly, she staggered a step backwards. “If there is a way, you must tell us before it is too late."

    
Everyone gathered in the forest waited for her to speak. The huddled masses of women and children scattered among the ranks of Amrin's men watched her with expectant faces. Tears formed in Amelian's eyes, running down her cheeks. “We are not ready for the way,” she said finally.

    
Amrin struck her, a sharp backhanded blow which knocked her from her feet. He squatted beside her sprawling form, drawing his knife. The blade was speckled with the dried red flakes of pink skin blood. He leaned over her, pressing the blade's point against her throat. “I am sorry, Amelian, but I don't have time to become enlightened enough for your liking. I need to know now. I will not stand by and watch our race fade into the eternal night.

    
"The stones!” Amelian cried. “The stones are our only hope!"

    
Amrin withdrew the knife, a look of confusion and shock upon his face. “What?"

    
Amelian rubbed at her throat. “Yes, the stones."

    
Amrin rocked with laughter, a deep madness in his eyes. “The stones bring the rains and keep the desert from our valley. Do you plan to drown the beasts?"

    
"No,” Amelian answered getting to her feet. “The stones are much more. They were left behind when God departed from this world. They were the tools he used during the shaping.” She waved her arm around, gesturing towards the trees. “They created all that we have, but they can be used for unmaking things as well. They hold the power of the stars inside them."

    
Amrin grinned, “Then lead me to them, Priestess."

    
Amelian loosened her robes and let them drop from her body. Imbedded in her skin between the mounds of her breasts was a gem of deep purple hues which seemed to pulsate with a dim glow in time with the beating of her heart. “Each of the eighteen members of my order carries one, one for each of our villages. When we pass on, it is cut from our flesh and given to our chosen successor to become one with them as it was with us. It is a part of the Almighty and alive inside our bodies.” Amelian's fingers stroked its surface. Energy from within the gem leapt to meet her fingertips, crackling in its intensity. “You have but to slay me, Amrin, and it will be yours."

    
"Forgive me,” Amrin whispered as slide his blade into her belly. Warm, green blood rushed out over his hand. “I do.” Amelian said as he twisted the knife, cutting upwards towards her heart and the gem.

    
The forest was silent as Amrin hacked away the flesh surrounding the gem.

    
Harrison slammed his fist into the gunnery controls, frustrated and disgusted by the lack of targets. The sensors had swept the village a dozen times to reveal nothing more.

    
"Sir, it looks like our job here is done,” Greg said, “And Alpha platoon is requesting support for their raid on the village to the north. Are you ready to move out?"

    
"I know somebody's still here.” Harrison grunted. “I can feel it, but the sensor sweeps keep coming up clean."

    
Suddenly, Harrison's screen surged with an energy reading so powerful it overloaded the array and the screen went dead. “Damn it!” Harrison yelled already trying to switch to the back up circuits.

    
"What the hell was that?” Greg's voice shouted over the intercom.

    
"Don't know,” Harrison mumbled as the sensors began to come on-line again. The screen was full of life signatures, over three dozen spilling out of the distant tree line and closing on the tank's position.

    
Blue skinned warriors ran across the open field between the forest and the village, waving weapons made of bone and wood. The lead warrior didn't read as a normal blip on the screen. Instead the tank's limited AI recognized him as a tank depicting an energy readout greater than the vehicle's own fusion drive.

    
Harrison maneuvered the turret to towards the new targets as Greg revved the tank into motion and sped towards the warriors. Harrison smirked as brought the main gun into action. The tank shook as it fired. The field exploded into a blaze of fire and light. Greg could hear the screams of the dying natives over the roar of the tank's engine. Before the initial blast had faded, Harrison started sweeping the area with the anti-personnel guns. They chattered spitting death into the sea of flame and smoke.

    
A lone man, bleeding and battered, still stood surrounded by the twisted and smoking forms of his companions.

    
"Oh, God,” Greg muttered, feeling pity for the man.

    
Harrison sighted the anti-personnel guns onto their remaining target. “That bastard's going down this time!"

    
The man wobbled and nearly fell but somehow, despite his gaping wounds, remained on his feet. He outstretched a hand towards the tank. Harrison hesitated, his finger on the trigger, “What is that F-er doing?"

    
A bolt of purple energy shot from the man's fingertips, slicing through the air. It struck the tank's armor and melted through it as if it were nothing, striking the tank's fuel cell. The entire village lit up as the tank exploded.

    
The man fell to his knees. Women, children, and the few remaining warriors left within the trees emerged from their place of hiding and ran towards him. Their triumphant cries rang in the air. When they reached Amrin, they saw that he was dead, his body an empty and withered shell. One of the warriors pushed Amrin's corpse to the ground and began sawing at the flesh surrounding the gem imbedded in Amrin's flesh. The warrior tore his prize free and held it high into the sun's rays. “Now, we have a way to fight!” he screamed, shaking the gem at the heavens. Applause and cheers sounded all around him.

9 - A Late Night Dinner at Tara's Place

    
Mark reclined comfortably on Tara's couch his eyes glued to the TV. Umberto Lenzi's Zombie Holocaust played on the screen. Mark prided himself on his knowledge and love of Italian horror and on nights like this he always brought along some tapes from his extensive collection to enjoy as he ate.

    
Tara had invited him over to meet her parents and the months of Hell he'd endured getting her to bring him to her home had paid off. He'd met Tara at the town's only video store not long after he'd moved to Sylva. She shared his taste in films and they had hit it off instantly. She was not attractive in the normal way. Her pale face was covered in pimples, her glasses too large for her round face, and she weighed nearly two hundred pounds. But for Mark, it had been love at first sight, his mouth watering at the thought of her taste. He'd made sure he was around the store when she dropped by on Tuesdays for the rent two for a dollar special and talked to her often. She seemed to fall instantly in love with him though he guessed she would have done the same for any male that showed a bit of interest. Their dates were dull and the sex worse. Mark shuddered when he thought about her rolls of fat shaking above him on his bed. Tonight, though, had made it all worth while. He'd known eventually she'd wanted him to eet her parents. He would get three for the price of one.

    
Tara and her parents had put up little resistance. All of them easy kills. A moment of screaming and some well placed strokes of his straight edged razor and it really was dinnertime. Mark couldn't help but smile as he reached over to Tara's body which he'd positioned on the couch beside him and pulled a long string of intestine from the neatly carved hole in her stomach. It was still warm and lubricated with blood that had not yet congealed. He rubbed it across his face savoring the freshness of the meat before popping it into his mouth. He chewed the cord and the hot feces inside.

    
The bodies of Tara's parents lay on the floor in front of him. Long gashes stretched across their throats and other parts of their flesh. The room was covered in red stickiness and looking around now, Mark had to admit he'd gone a bit wild. It was so rare that he got to indulge himself, maybe two or three times a year at best. He was always on the move and oh, so careful never to be caught. He got up from the couch, stepping over the bodies and ejected “Zombie Holocaust” from the VCR and popped in a copy of “Hell of the Living Dead". As its opening credits started up, he slumped back on the couch beside Tara pressing his blood smeared lips against her cold skin. He pulled out his razor and carefully slid it into her left eye, slicing the soft tissue surrounding the orb until he could ease it out into his waiting palm. He rolled it around in his hand then wrapped it gently in a napkin and stuffed it into his backpack. He tried to always keep a tad of something to have at home on the morning after.

    
Doing so made him glance at the clock which sat on the fireplace nearby. It was going on two o'clock now and the time to leave was drawing near. His heart nearly leapt from his chest as the doorbell rang. He jumped up from his seat ready to run trying to grab his video tapes and backpack only to spill them onto the floor with a loud clatter.

    
"Open up! Police!” A deep voice shouted from outside. Mark stood frozen with shock as the door flew inward. A tall officer who looked to be complete muscle from head to toe forced his way inside, a standard issue .38 held ready in his hand. Mark broke out of his stupor, leaping at the man. He swung his blade wildly but somehow still managed to hit his target. Hot red liquid sprayed from the officer's throat as he gurgled trying to shout against the pressure of his own blood filling his windpipe. Mark knocked the gun from the man's hand and shoved him to the floor, falling to his own knees to lap at the warm fluids as the man spasmed in death.

    
A second officer rushed in behind him. Mark turned to see the man raising his gun and the flash as the first shot left the barrel. The thunder of the shot echoed in Mark's ears as he felt the round tear into his shoulder. His razor left his hand, flying across the slick floor to vanish in the darkness of the adjacent kitchen. Mark's eyes burned with tears as he leapt up howling. The officer recoiled in horror from him as Mark's teeth snapped on empty on air. Mark whirled running for the living room window. It was past time to go. He never felt the bullet which entered the back of his skull and stained the white curtains with his brain matter as his body toppled to the carpet of the living room floor. The thing he saw in this life was the image of a tiny rat gnawing its way out of an elderly grandmother's stomach on the TV screen as Hell of the Living Dead continued to play.

THE END

IV - Zombies I - The War Stories

1 - Rising

    
It all began with the plague. The dead rose from their tombs spreading pestilence across the globe. I fought in the last battle to hold New York, watching their gray-skinned legions shamble mindlessly forward towards our lines. Maggots swam in their rotting flesh and as their ranks stretched as far as the eye could see blurring into the horizon. Automatons though they were they outnumbered us twenty to one even then in those early days. The dull, horrible sound of their moaning so great it could be heard over the cacophony of blazing weapons and the explosions of grenades launched into the midst as they pushed through our barricades and broke free of the city proper.

    
The South fared no better for down there in the mountains of North Carolina another evil stirred and the wolves rose up on two legs to join the fight against mankind. What rumors we heard of Alaska and the Antarctic brought us an even greater fear of the darkness. In those places it was said the dead were far from mindless. They were fast, cunning, and strong enough to rip through the steel walls of bases there with bare hands, red fangs glistening in the emergency lights.