Zombie Kong (7 page)

Thumb between her teeth, Candice started thinking about that window again. Maybe she could jump through it after all. Or maybe she could charge full steam ahead and knock the psycho on his ass before he knew what was happening. Yeah. That was a better plan. Maybe she could do that.

“Anyways,” Kirby said, still grinning, “I figure this bedroom here makes a pretty good net, and this bat may not be Smasher, but I think it’ll do the job just fine. I’m going to beat the shit out of you, bitch. I’m gonna hit you right in the sweet spot, and when I’m finished I’m gonna throw your remains in the creek.”

Kirby’s chicken-eyes widened as he tightened his grip and lifted the bat from his shoulder.

And that’s when Candice charged him.

JAKE

Locked in his seatbelt, ignoring the terrible smell that was radiating from his father, Jake flinched at the unexpected sounds coming from behind him. When he spun around, he saw Kong standing between two bungalows, intestines hanging to his feet, slamming fists against both houses. One of the houses was hanging tough and taking the beating like a champ, the other… not so much; it was making a quick transition from home to scrap heap. With the monster facing the opposite direction, fighting a battle with the citizens from one street over, Jake couldn’t see the look of fury on Kong’s face. But it was there. The beast was angrier than a nest of wasps getting swatted by a stick. Jake couldn’t help wondering where Kong would go next, and how safe he was sitting in a borrowed car a few hundred feet away.

After watching the battle for nearly two minutes, three cars came racing down the street. All three cars parked in unusual angles on the street between Jake and Kong, creating an unintentional roadblock for oncoming traffic. Jake counted six men jumping out of the three cars––every one of them armed. They opened fire on the beast without hesitation.

After being shot several times, Kong spun around and rushed the nearest car. He slammed a foot on top of it, destroying the front end. Men scattered like roaches.

This startled Jake, making him appreciate the fact that he wasn’t watching some new form of entertainment, but instead was seeing the real thing. He was in a dangerous place, a place he would be smart to get away from, a place that was getting more and more dangerous all the time.

He turned away from the chaos and shouted, “Dad! Dad! We’ve got to get out of here! Dad!” He unbuckled his seatbelt, slid forward, and grabbed his father by the shoulder. “Dad!”

Dale wasn’t moving.

“Dad––?”

Jake pulled his hand away as if he had touched something foul, and he inched his way back into his seat. He looked at his hand and then looked at his father once again.
What’s happening here? Why isn’t Dad responding?
Jake opened the car door and stepped outside slowly, like a boy who didn’t want to know what would transpire next. Almost cautiously, he looked at his father through the passenger door window. The window––still rolled up––was clean, allowing Jake a crystal clear view of something he didn’t want to see. Dale’s eyes were open, but there was nobody home. The man was dead, and if he wasn’t dead, he looked dead. His chest wasn’t moving, his head was skewed to one side, and his bottom lip was hanging away from the rest of his mouth in a way Jake had never seen before. He almost looked plastic, sitting frozen in place like a human replica in a wax museum.

“Oh no––” Jake said, as the reality of the moment came crashing down on him. Before Kong arrived, his father had been moving around quite a bit, struggling to breathe, trying to find a position that allowed a greater amount of air into his lungs. Now he was motionless––a silent and stagnant object, a piece of meat.

Things were bad. No, not
bad
. They were
so
bad… so terribly
wrong
for
so
many reasons. How long had he been sitting in the car with a corpse?

Jake leaned his forehead against the window and stayed still for a long moment, his eyes heavy with tears.

What’s taking Mom so long?

Suddenly he needed his mother. Yes… his mother. That was a good plan. Mom would know what to do, and maybe Dad wasn’t even dead. Maybe he just
looked
dead. Maybe he could be fixed.

Kong roared as Jake ran across the yard to the front door. He was surprised to find the door locked.
Mom went through the other door,
he thought. Then he remembered her opening the gate and running into the backyard. Like a man on a mission, he bolted across the yard a second time. He pushed open the gate door, which had swung shut on its own, and zipped into the house through the side door.

“Mom!” he shouted. “Mom, come quick!”

And that’s when he saw the man from the restaurant, covered in blood, holding a baseball bat in his hand. The man grinned, and his little chicken-eyes seemed to dig holes right into Jake’s heart.

DALE

When I woke up, things were different: the air had no smell, I was afraid of nothing, and, more importantly, the aches and pains in my body were gone. I can’t say breathing was easier, but I can say it was no longer an issue.

My lungs were no longer an issue.

There was no color in my world; everything had turned black, white, and gray. Sounds were muffled, like I was wearing earmuffs over ears packed with cotton. I could still hear things, but sound seemed far away and irrelevant.

I looked at my hands. They were dirty and covered in a strange, jelly-like filth. I couldn’t remember why, and I tried to say so, but all that escaped my mouth was a mumble.

For a moment I didn’t know what to do, but then I realized where I was: sitting in a car in front of my home. Instinctively, I fumbled with the car door until I managed to open it, and then I stepped outside. To my right was my home. To my left was a giant gorilla, engulfed in a battle with people I could no longer relate to. Why were the people fighting this poor, defenseless gorilla?

I looked the gorilla in the eye, and for a moment, the gorilla looked at me.

The world seemed to stop then; everything became unnaturally quiet.

The two of us––gorilla and man––both realized that we were connected; somehow, we were the same. And because of this strange unity, I knew, deep in my heart, that this giant beast would never hurt me, and I would never hurt it. We were brethren; we were family. We were special.

Our moment of tranquility came to an abrupt end with an onslaught of gunfire.

In my mind, I told the beast that he should try to get away from the bad men, and that he was welcome to be with me.

In my mind, he thanked me.

I turned away from the battle and shuffled my way towards the front door. Upon my arrival, I discovered it was locked. After a moment I remembered that my home had more than one door. I made my way to the side of my house and opened the side door. I stepped inside.

Something was going on, something I couldn’t understand.

It was bad. Whatever was happening, it was bad.

I took me a moment to maneuver myself into the living room. Walking was difficult.

There was a man standing in the center of the room. My wife was behind him in a wash of blood, smashed apart like an egg yolk and its shell. My son was lying at the man’s feet. His head was splintered apart; the blood was rolling out of him, as if his head had been opened up the moment before.

In my mind, I asked for help, because I didn’t know what to do. My wife and my son were dead, murdered by the man standing before me. I didn’t know who the man was, or why he had done such a thing to my family. All I knew for sure was that it wasn’t right, and I needed to make things better somehow.

I looked at my wife; her chest was still moving. Even though her arms were broken, her legs were shattered, and her ribs had been smashed in, she was still alive. Somehow, she hadn’t slipped away just yet.

I looked at my boy, and I watched as his eyes shifted position. He was looking up at me, pleading, begging. His head was split wide, and the blood was bucketing out of him; his
life
was leaving him, but it hadn’t left him yet. Soon, but not yet––

I didn’t feel anything.

Feelings, much like color and sound, had faded from me. I knew the man was a bad man, and I knew that I should be angry with him. My wife and child were in pain; they were dying. This should have made me feel a lot of things, but it didn’t. I felt nothing.

The man was suddenly terrified. He started screaming something terrible about me; he clearly didn’t like the way I looked. He ran to the front door, unlocked it, and bolted into the street.

Through the living room window, I could see the giant gorilla focus on the man, ignoring everything else. Somehow, the great beast knew the man was my enemy, and thus, the man was
his
enemy. I turned away from the window just as the beast lowered a massive foot, killing for vengeance.

My wife and son were still alive, but not for long. Not without God.

Growing up, I never believed in God. But now I do.

So I dropped to my knees, not to pray, but to eat. And when I was on my hands and knees, eating my wife and son, I knew God was with me, guiding me, inviting my family to join in His everlasting glory.

Praise God, for He is the resurrection.

He brings us eternal life.

* * *

JAMES ROY DALEY is a writer, editor, and musician. He studied film at the Toronto Film School, music at Humber College, and English at the University of Toronto. He is the author of
Terror Town, Into Hell, 13 Drops of Blood
, and
The Dead Parade
. In 2009 he founded
Books of the Dead Press
, where he enjoyed immediate success working with many of the biggest names in horror. He edited anthologies such as
Zombie Kong - Anthology, Best New Vampire Tales, Classic Vampire Tales
, and
Best New Zombie Tales.

* * *

Preview of:

GARY BRANDNER’S - THE HOWLING

1

The September heat lay heavy on Los Angeles. In the condominium community called Hermosa Terrace all the windows were tightly closed. The only sounds were the hum of exhaust fans and the muted growl of a power mower.

In the living room of Unit Two, Karyn Beatty stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband, Roy. Lady, their miniature collie, wagged her approval from the sofa. It started as a casual husband-and-wife first-anniversary kiss, but it quickly became something more. Karyn drew back her head and looked into Roy’s clear brown eyes.

“Are you trying to start something?” she said a little breathlessly.

“Darn right,” Roy replied, taking her in his arms.

Roy pulled her close, his big, gentle hands warm through the thin material of her summer dress. He kissed her neck where the blond hair curled forward below her ear.

“Won’t Chris be here soon?” she said, her lips close to his ear.

“We won’t answer the door.”

“You couldn’t do that to your best friend. Especially after we asked him to come by for an anniversary drink.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Roy admitted. “Anyway, he won’t stay long. He has a date.”

“Anybody we know?”

“A new one, I think.”

“Doesn’t Chris ever get serious about anybody?”

“Who knows? I think he’s secretly in love with you.”

“You don’t mean it?”

“Why not? All my friends have good taste.”

* * *

Max Quist shut off the power mower and took out a soiled handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. He watched as a young couple in sparkling tennis whites climbed out of a sports car and ran laughing across the lawn. They didn’t pay any attention to Max. Nobody living in Hermosa Terrace paid any attention to Max. He was like another piece of shrubbery to them.

No, he thought, not even that much.

Max hated these people. He hated them for having all the things he would never have. He would quit this lousy job in a minute if it weren’t for his parole officer. Just once he would like to show the smug sons-of-bitches that Max Quist was
somebody
.

* * *

The telephone rang in Unit Two. Roy Beatty picked it up and frowned as he listened to the voice on the other end. He spoke briefly and hung up.

“Anything wrong?” Karyn asked.

“I’ve got to go to Anaheim. Deliver some books.”

“On Saturday? On our anniversary?”

“Dammit, it’s my own fault. I promised to drop off a set of inspection manuals at Aerodyne yesterday. Had them in the trunk of the car and forgot all about it. I don’t know how it slipped my mind.”

Karyn smiled. It was very unlike Roy to forget anything. He was always thoroughly organized, like one of the technical manuals he edited. When she had first met him she had thought Roy Beatty was as stodgy as a church deacon. However, she had soon discovered his warm sense of humor, an open-minded willingness to listen, and a depth of intellect that was not apparent in his All-American good looks. Karyn had been working as a convention hostess for the New York Hilton at the time. Roy was in the city for a gathering of engineers. For the first time, she had broken the hotel rule against socializing with the guests. Roy had stayed on for a week after the convention, and they had been together constantly. When he had returned to the Coast he had said he would be back for her on his vacation. She had not expected him to come, but he had. That was when she had finally admitted she loved him.

“Don’t be long,” she said as he stood at the door. She kissed him and watched him walk down the winding path through the neatly trimmed shrubbery. Karyn could not imagine how she could be happier. She had Roy and she had an excellent job with a hotel near the airport where she was in line for convention manager when her current boss retired. Tonight she would give Roy her special anniversary gift––the news that he was going to be a father. Yes, her life was just about perfect.