Love Prevails: A Zombie Nightmare (5 page)

Keith’s spirit sank to its lowest depth. The illusions of his newfound hope to defeat the undead vanished in the harshness of reality. He had fooled himself into believing that the living had a chance against the monsters.

The dead approached in overwhelming odds and pushed the living to give up ground.
          

"Keith! Save me!" Kara pleaded.

"Let’s get back to the cabin." Keith grabbed her arm and ran along with others in retreat. The dead started pouring into the village. There would be no escaping without some kind of miracle.

Keith and Kara burst into the cabin and quickly locked the door. Keith loaded his gun, and Kara loaded hers. The sole window in the front was boarded shut, but a crack or two allowed a small view of the carnage overtaking the village.

A wave of walking dead snatched up a woman who tripped and fell to the ground. Her screams only lasted a few seconds, unlike one man, whose arms and legs provided a feast for the ravenous monsters.

Small children separated from their parents stood by crying until whisked away by putrid hands and skeletal fingers.             

"You’ve got to save me, Keith. You promised," Kara pleaded softly.
           

"Our best chance . . . our only chance, is to wait and see if they move on. Maybe they’ll eat their fill and leave," Keith whispered.

Kara stood close, and sobbed. "Please . . . please, Keith . . . please . . . save me."
       

The shooting outside had stopped long before the last cries of the living went silent. Keith peered out of the window crack and saw the streets thick with the living dead. The ferocity of the zombies was greater than he imagined possible.

Knocks on the cabin walls made him feel that the circle of death was tightening. The door handle moved slightly making a mechanical clicking noise. Kara flinched as fists banged on the door.     

The two remained silent, practically holding their breath as they prayed for a miracle. The door handle moved again. A louder bang against the door caused it to buckle slightly, bent by the weight of the hungry ghouls.

Keith leaned his back against the door. Wood twisted and the hinges made a metallic groan. The mass of undead flesh pushed harder. Keith grabbed the table and shoved it between the door and the wall. The moaning from the monsters increased. “They can probably smell us in here.”          

The bolt broke away from the keeper, and the door slammed halfway open against the table.

Keith fired his gun, dropping the first rotting face that poked in, and every one that followed after. Kara handed him her gun and began reloading his.

The undead attempted to climb over the first few layers that had fallen to buckshot. Keith blasted every zombie fighting to enter, until the bodies stacked up in the doorway. Body on top of body now blocked the entry. He held his fire.

He could still hear them outside meandering about, but they were no longer trying to enter.

Was it over? Did he stumble upon that miracle he was praying for? Did a wall of dead zombies somehow mask him and Kara from whatever senses the living dead possessed?     

The seconds passed, seeming like hours. Movement outside continued. The dead body on top of the pile suddenly disappeared from behind. Sunlight shone through and fell on Kara’s tearful eyes.

The next on top followed, and the next, until Keith put the first meatless face to show itself in his open sights and blasted it into fragments. The body dropped, then another, and another, blocking the door again. The hopeless game continued with the zombies in endless pursuit of the last two survivors.

Kara looked again through the window crack. There seemed no fewer of the undead in number than when it started.          

"Keith, you promised you would save me . . . ."

"I will honey. I will. When it’s time."

"Do it now."
   

He looked over to her to protest, and saw she held an empty box of shells.

Kara looked at him with her big brown eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks. "Save me, Keith. Save me now."     

With only three shells remaining, he knew the time had finally arrived.

"Please . . . if you really love me . . . ." Kara pulled the gun barrel toward her head. The skin on her fingers seared into the hot metal.

The bodies began clearing the doorway for the final assault.
          

"I do love you, Kara." Keith pulled the trigger. Kara’s beautiful face exploded onto the cabin walls. "I did it . . . I kept my promise . . . I saved you."

Keith turned back to the door. The head of another creature of darkness came into view. He pulled the trigger and blasted it backward.   

He was down to his last shell.

With one last goodbye to his beloved Kara, Keith saved himself.

The End

Resurrection X: Zombie Evolution by Dane Hatchell

Published by Post Mortem Press

Chapters 1-4

Resurrection X: Zombie Evolution

Prologue

Modern times: Dallas, Texas, the year 2020

"If I had known that you were going to be this distracted, I would have cooked dinner for you at home," Hoyt Anders told his wife, Reba, as the couple sat at Cafe D'Esprit while browsing the drink menu. "This was supposed to be a special night for us, our tenth anniversary and all."

"Look at those two over there," Reba said, nodding her head to the left. "Disgusting, if you ask me."

Hoyt casually twisted his head toward the couple. "
Those two
aren't bothering anyone. They're just enjoying a meal, no different than you and me."

"Their kind shouldn’t be allowed in here. I can smell that rotting cabbage they’re eating way over here." Reba winced in repulsion. "They're trouble makers—nothing but equal right activists trying to stir up trouble. Some left wing organization put them up to this. You know most of them can’t even think for themselves."

In a dark corner near the kitchen door, at a small table with barely enough space to accommodate chairs, sat two members of the Non-Dead. Each wore the standard City Maintenance attire of dark blue, long-sleeved jumpsuit, and Department of Sanitation cap. The shadows hid the level of decay of their leathery faces.

"I'm sure it makes them feel more," Hoyt paused to choose the correct word, "human. Besides, it's the law, and the restaurant can't afford to have the Feds suing them over discrimination."

Reba dropped the drink menu and put her hands on the table. "But the Non-Dead don't even need to eat solid food like we do. The alien virus infesting their body feeds off that skin cream they grease up with." Reba shuddered at the thought of becoming infected.

"That’s true, but the sauerkraut they’re eating helps to preserve the internal organs. It adds months, if not years, to the amount of time they remain useful for service," Hoyt said.

"Yada, yada, yada." Reba closed her eyes in dismissal. "They’re nothing but zombie trash."

Hoyt grimaced. "Not so loud with the Z-word, the waitress will hear you."

Reba glanced to the right at the sound of clanking dishes.

"You’re worried about the waitress over there? From the looks of her, she’s getting close to the end of her usefulness. She’d be better off concentrating on her job and ignoring what the Living are saying about her."

"Speaking of a waitress," Hoyt poked his head up and searched around the room, "where's ours? I need a drink."

"She's probably in the bathroom, putting her face on. Get it? Literally putting her face on—because it fell off!" Reba giggled with a mixture of snorts at her attempt at a joke.

Hoyt took a deep breath and let out a huff of bad air. "I got it. Honey, you have to face the fact that the Non-Dead are here to stay."

Reba's lips tightened into an O, reminding Hoyt of a body orifice located in the nether region.

Picking up the drink menu, Hoyt said, "You'll loosen up a bit once we have a drink or two. What will it be? White wine? How about some champagne? I'm pulling out all the stops tonight."

"You don't like my humor because you don't get it."

"Please, can we just move on? I don't think jokes like that are appropriate. Not in this day and age, and certainly not in a public place. Would you prefer a cocktail from the specialty menu? How about an Appletini or a Cosmopolitan?"

Reba frowned and crossed her arms. "Is there an erection resurrection cocktail? If there is, you need to order two."

The woman at a table near them let out a shriek. All heads turned in her direction. The warm hum of conversation ended abruptly as she stood, tossed her napkin to the floor, and commanded the waitress to bring the manager to the table.

"What the hell is going on over there?" Hoyt said, hoping to avoid the fight that Reba was trying to pick.

"Her soup was probably cold or something. I've been watching her ever since we sat down. She frowns at everything her date says to her. She even sent back the first bottle of wine, turning her nose up after taking a sip. I know those types of people, never happy, always finding a reason to complain, and I can't stand them. You know the kind of people I'm talking about?"

Hoyt hesitated. "Yes, I know too well," and drank quickly from his glass of water before he incriminated himself.

The restaurant manager walked briskly behind Reba, approaching the upset customer.

"My good ma'am, I am so sorry that there was a slight problem with the soup. Café D'Esprit prides itself in its five star rating. We’ve earned that rating due to the quality of our food and our service. I assure you, that rating could not have been achieved without the highest level of cleanliness in our kitchen. I apologize greatly for the fly that you have found in your soup. The vile creature must have flown in from outside as our distinguished patrons enter and leave."

The woman shook her head slowly, unresponsive to his apology.

He stood with raised eyebrows and opened palms turned upside down in front of his chest, offering a gentle smile anticipating her reprieve.

Placing her hands firmly on her hips, she leaned toward him. "It wasn’t a fly that I found in my soup. It was an
eye
I found in my soup!"

Two tables over, a large man dressed in a tuxedo brought his napkin quickly to his mouth as he started to gag. Unable to control himself, he dry heaved until his face turned a deep shade of red.

One table over from him, a young woman with long blond hair erupted a plate of ratatouille and two glasses of chardonnay over the ivory white tablecloth. Vomit shot out of her mouth and nose with the force of a fire hose. Her date twisted his ankle and fell as he leaped to safety from his chair in his efforts to avoid the spewing emesis.

Reba smirked in victory, nodding her head
I told you so
to Hoyt as he cradled his face in his palms.

Chapter 1