Well, here is a finalized version of the cover for Into The Dark, along with the rough up of the back cover. Now it is all in my publisher’s hands-the formatting is complete and has been sent off to him and now the final cover has as well. Once again, a huge thank you goes out to Philip R. Rogers, artist extraordinaire, who created this masterpiece. His art can be found at philipr.deviantart.com/gallery/. Check it out and see how talented this guy is.
As you can guess, I am pretty dang thrilled about this and am excited to get this book out there to continue the story. More updates to come as I get them!
November 5, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark, Into The Dark | Tags: comes the dark, cover art, horror, Into The Dark, Library of the Living Dead, writing, zombies | 2 Comments
Well, just about everything is ready to go on my sequel to Comes The Dark. Philip R. Rogers once again did a fantastic job on the cover art. While it is not officially finished, outside of a few touches, it is ready to go. I wanted to thank him for putting that effort at the top of the list when my publisher decided we should move the publication date up on Into The Dark so it can be released before Christmas. The cover image transition from the first book to second book and what we both envision for book three is terrific, both for the front and back cover. Philip gets the credit for keeping the theme and tone on track and I can’t wait to compare all three books side by side when all is said and done.
I also have to give some pretty high praise to Kody Boye, the formatting wizard who got the formatting done in no time flat on this book. I kept the formatting identical to the first book, which he admits made it easier on him, but I can’t deny how impressive it was to see it back so quickly. After one more quick run through, it was as good as done, after just a few days of passing along the finalized manuscript to him. Of course, Michelle Linhart, my editor, deserves huge helpings of praise for taking on this entire project of all three books and doing a terrific job with it.
I will be revealing the second cover once Philip gets me the final version-I don’t want to provide the ‘raw’ footage of the almost complete cover here with it so close to being done, so it will be a few days still-but soon, very soon. Stay tuned for that-I hope you all like it as much as I do.
Also, more Dark Stories are upcoming here on my blog, but make sure you check out the latest installment, George and Jason, Part 2, which is a few posts down from this one, or head on over on my Dark Stories Page, which has all the Dark stories I have created thus far, all in order. I will continue to post them as long as I have material that is worthy of being put into the blog from the original manuscripts I wrote for the trilogy.
I know I have posted this several times previously, but here again is the back cover description for Into The Dark:
Six weeks ago, the mysterious virus came out of nowhere and engulfed the world. Everyone infected seemed to die … then rise again.
Jeff Blaine did his best to hold his family together and to protect them from the horrors scratching at their door, but in the end, they were ripped away from him like everything else that ever mattered.
Lost and alone, Jeff decided his only option was to destroy as many of the monsters that stole his life away before they destroy him as well. But when he discovers Megan, George, and Jason, three other survivors not interested in giving up just yet, he reluctantly accepts that there might still be a reason to fight and live to see another day.
Traveling through the blasted landscape their world has become, the quartet discovers that the living dead aren’t the only danger with which they must cope. Even other survivors who promise safety and security from the hordes of ghouls roaming the wastelands will test loyalties and their faith in humankind.
Jeff and his small band of newfound friends must forge a semblance of life in the newly blighted world. And they will have only the light of their own humanity by which to navigate as everything around them descends into the dark.
Stay tuned for more info-I will post it as I get it. Thanks!
November 3, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark, Dark Stories, Into The Dark | Tags: comes the dark, horror, Into The Dark, Library of the Living Dead, writing, zombies | Leave a comment
I had the privilege of being a part of May December’s first anthology release and I get that same privilege with NorGus, which is releasing Strange Tales of Horror and have revealed a rough of the cover art and the Table of Contents. My story, “VRZ” is in this book and I couldn’t be more excited about it. This is a anthology that covers a wide spectrum of strange horror tales and I am looking forward to checking out everyone else’s offerings.
Here is the cover:
Here is the Table of Contents:
Forward by Jeff Angus
Introduction by Matt Nord
Hunger & Hair by Matt Nord
The Leaf People by C.H. Potter
Birthday Boy by Eric Dimbleby
Missionary by Jason Barney
The Scarecrow Man by Daniel P. Coughlin
A Secret Amongst Boys by Mason Ian Bundschuh
Mother by Jessica A. Weiss
Graveyard Queen by Mark Roland Wilson
Sitwat Goes Home by Sarah Islam
The Monster by Crystal Connor
The Devil’s Advocates by C.D. Reimer
Hall of Twelve by Rebecca Besser
Devil’s Playground by Eden Royce
All Your Flesh Are Belong to Us by Jason M. Bloom
The Night Visitor by Lorraine Horrell
Hanging by a Thread by Jeremy Bush
What She Saw by Darren Gallagher
The Pit by Darren Gallagher
Shotgun & Smoke by Ian Sandusky
VRZ by Patrick D’Orazio
The Hunger of Shadows by Robert Freese
The Devil, You Say by Ken Goldman
The Eyes That Watch by A.J. French
Dark Timber by Lee Zumpe
Poem TBA
The Shadow Beast by Anthony Bell
Get the Brick by Amanda Lawrence Auverigne
Lise by Jan Vander Laenen
Daggoth the Destroyer by John Pennington
Saw-Kill Road by Thomas M. Malafarina
Not sure of the release date yet, but I will keep everyone posted!
November 1, 2010 | Categories: Other folk's stuff..., The Shorts | Tags: cover art, horror, NorGus, short stories, Table of Contents, writing | 1 Comment
In honor of Halloween, and in honor of my new favorite TV show, The Walking Dead (I saw the premier tonight, and I loved it!), here is some more of the continuing saga of George and Jason, before they enter Jeff’s life in Comes The Dark. I wrote a lot of stuff for them both, and there is at least a Part 3 coming up, and maybe even a Part 4. Forgive me for any typos that I missed-I tried to clean this up as best I could, but I am sure there are a few here.
Without further ado, here ya go.
George and Jason, Part 2
The memories from those early days continued to trickle into George’s mind as he entered the room he used as a bedroom. He plopped down on the small blanket and thin pillow he had acquired from the nurse’s station downstairs. His room was situated next to the room Jason had laid claim to, which had once been a dusty storage area. The entire second floor was mostly storage with the main area below housing the class rooms, gym, and church. He and Jason had blocked off the doors to the church from the part of the building they stayed in when they first arrived. It would have been impossible to protect the large open nave, with its massive windows and glass doors. The irony was not lost on George. He had found Jesus and even fled to a house of God, but had to steer clear of the church to avoid an agonizing death.
***
After the riot, George, Al, Jennifer, and Jason decided to bide their time for at least one more day. The rumors about what was happening outside had faded away as fewer newcomers were funneled into the high school. Most of the refugees still trickling in were being processed at the elementary school, but one of the last bits of gossip they heard was that there weren’t any more people seeking shelter. There was no one left out there alive.
Soldiers patrolled the gym, moving between isolated groups with their automatic weapons un-slung and ready for anyone who chose to cause them trouble. Another day went by and any new rumors passed along by the refugees about what was going on outside were mostly just unintelligible garbage George dismissed out of hand. Soldiers who were willing to talk insisted there were more refugees still funneling in across the street. All he knew for sure was that more troops were showing up at the school. He saw them talking outside the gym and could hear more vehicles out in the parking lot. Soldiers stationed with the huddled masses inside were more agitated than usual.
It was enough to convince George that their little group’s time had come. Despite the eradication of the troublesome gang members, it would not be long before someone else tried to start another revolt. Everyone was tired, angry, and afraid. They were jammed into a claustrophobic environment and it appeared as if George wasn’t the only one planning something. When it all went down, he wondered if the soldiers would even bother with tear gas or just start firing their weapons into the crowd.
After a long sleepless night it came to George. Jason was small enough that he could slip out of the cafeteria when they shuffled into the cafeteria to eat breakfast. There had been no head counts in several days. The guards had slacked off ever since the real troublemakers had been eliminated. They were paranoid and concerned that everyone would try to rush their positions at the main exits, or try and steal their weapons, but didn’t appear worried that someone might try sneaking deeper into the building. When George approached the twelve year old, Jason was more than willing to go on an “adventure” to help them all out. He was practically champing at the bit to make a break for one of the doors that led to unused classrooms in the high school.
At breakfast, Jason displayed no fear as he stood up and boldly walked across the room away from their table. No one, including the soldiers standing guard and serving the food, took notice of the twelve year old. Just as George thought, the other refugees were too wrapped up in their own woes to care about some random kid. The soldiers were just as distracted, with someone different approaching them to argue or complain about something every few minutes to pay attention to a boy slinking around the crowded space. George, for all his confidence that he was doing the right thing, could barely watch as Jason crossed the linoleum floor toward one of the sets of doors. When Al squeezed his arm and smiled to let him know that Jason had made it, George felt weak.
No alarms were raised as Jason slipped through the doors, nor were there any hints that the soldiers suspected anything.
When the time came to leave the cafeteria the three remaining members of the group shuffled out with all the rest of the entrapped citizens and returned to their cots, biding their time until lunch. If Jason were caught in the few hours in between the two meals, they hoped he would get no more than a scolding. Even as high strung as the guards were, unless he snuck up on one and yelled ‘Boo!’ he would probably be safe. If one of the adults had gone and had been caught … it was hard to imagine it would have gone well for them. George remembered the fit Jennifer had thrown about Jason taking on such a responsibility and how she couldn’t sit still as they waited, wondering if he was okay.
At lunch, when Jason returned to them unnoticed, it took all the trio had to not stand up and cheer as he slipped in beside them at their table. They sat, grinning and patting him on the back, but waited until they were back in the relative privacy of their small section of the gym before asking him what he had seen. He told them about the corridors he was willing to venture down. He had found several empty classrooms, but more importantly a hallway leading to an exit on the opposite side of the building that didn’t appear to be guarded. He was able to open the door-no alarm had sounded and it was only locked from the outside. There were no guards posted outside at the back of the building. Now all they needed was a distraction so they could make their move.
George winced at the memory of their excitement and shared euphoria. They had been so optimistic! It was hard to imagine how he had rooted for someone to attack the guards or to cause another riot, just so the four of them could steal away in the ensuing chaos. There was nothing redeeming about such thoughts, though surely God would forgive his weakness in that moment. The four of them gathered up what few possessions they still had and the small amount of food they were able to sneak out of the cafeteria for their anticipated journey.
The rest of the day went by uneventfully, except for more and more soldiers running in and out of the gymnasium, hour after hour. Most of the newer residents of the makeshift dormitory did not notice, but George and his team was studying the soldiers, hoping that something would come up that would keep them occupied so that the foursome could make an unannounced exit.
With looks of exasperation and nervousness on most of the soldier’s faces, George guessed it wouldn’t take long. He could sense that things were getting ready to boil over outside.
They settled in for the night and the lights were turned off. George told Al to be ready to wake Jennifer and Jason at a moment’s notice. After a few uneventful hours, neither of the men could keep their eyes open and so when the fire alarm went off in the middle of the night it woke them both. People were jumping up all around them and several were screaming. After a couple of minutes of complete confusion, a young lieutenant came into the gym with a bullhorn and called for everyone’s attention. After the alarm was shut off and he had spent the better part of another minute asking for silence, everyone settled down.
The lieutenant appeared poised and George guessed he was a veteran of either Afghanistan or Iraq and was called back stateside when the shit hit the fan. The soldier’s voice was confident and forceful. He announced that they were going to have a fire drill, strictly as a precautionary measure. No one had any reason to be alarmed and they would all be back in their beds in a few minutes if everyone cooperated. He directed them to form two single file lines so they could move over to the cafeteria. George heard the calm and calculating words and could see that the lieutenant’s body language did not contradict it—there were no nervous twitches and no cracks in the his veneer. But when he looked closer, the soldier’s eyes told George everything he needed to know. He wondered how many others sensed it. There were ripples of panic throughout the crowd but nothing substantial. The lieutenant was good, but George could see the truth he was trying to hide.
It was time to leave.
George squeezed Al’s arm and gave the younger man a curt nod. Al returned the gesture and pulled his wife close, leaning in and whispering in her ear. She went white as a sheet as she listened to him speak. Her hands were on Jason’s shoulders and as they tightened, the pre-teen looked back at the others. His eyes began to sparkle with excitement as he realized their adventure was about to begin.
When the sound of gunfire from outside became audible, only a few people toward the back of the lines noticed. When those people hesitated, several soldiers jabbed at them with their M16s and kept them moving toward the cafeteria. Soon everyone could hear the weapons fire and frantic conversations broke out up and down the lines of refugees. Several of the men and a few of the women yelled at the soldiers, demanding to know what was going on outside. When they were ignored, they screamed even louder and others added their voices to the mix. What started out as apprehension was turning into something far worse as panic spread throughout the crowd.
The foursome knew they needed to make their move before things got ugly. They fought through the surging crowd toward the front of the pack, making their way into the cafeteria. They then maneuvered over toward the exit Jason had departed through hours before. They waited, afraid if they tried to leave now it would be noticed as the rest of the refugees filtered into the room.
George couldn’t recall exactly how everything went down, but he believed that was the moment when several people decided to charge the soldiers. He could not recall if it was a bunch of individuals acting on their own or some sort of concerted effort. What he did remember were the results.
A warning shot was fired and rifles were aimed at the potential attackers, who had enough sense to stop before they were fired upon. Another noise, this time an explosion from outside, shook the floors and walls moments later. After that, everything was a blur. There was pushing and shoving and more shots fired, but George didn’t pay that any attention. Instead, his eyes were focused on the door offering him, Al, Jennifer, and Jason a chance at escape. He grabbed Al by the shoulder and slammed his other fist into the door, pushing it open and shoving the other man through. George then waved Jason and Jennifer into the depths of the darkened building. They took off running, the sound of gunfire and screams echoing behind them.
Jason took the lead, maneuvering them through the building, easily avoiding areas that had been populated by soldiers. There was little to worry about; it appeared as if most posts had been abandoned, perhaps only moments earlier. The repetitive reports of automatic gunfire and the rage of the crowd became muffled as they passed through several more doors.
After a while, it was hard to determine whether the gunfire they were hearing was coming from inside or outside the building. The echoes made it hard to tell if they were getting closer or farther away from various trouble spots as they followed Jason down another dark hallway. After ten minutes of running, George began to worry that the twelve year old was leading them in circles. But when he saw a beam of light shining from down a hallway, he breathed a sigh of relief and swore to never doubt Jason again.
Moonlight shined into the hallway as they turned the corner and made their way down that final corridor. Jason ran ahead and waved them on as they rushed toward the exit. The sound of gunfire and screams were getting louder. The letters in the EXIT sign were lit in a luminous red and everyone felt a great sense of relief. George gestured for Jason to get behind him and he moved up to the door and peaked out the glass door. What he saw confirmed what the boy had told them earlier.
The door led out to the staff parking lot at the back of the building. The lot was jammed full of cars. Beyond that a flat field ran for about a quarter mile, with a wooded area beyond that. George cursed, wishing that just one member of his little party had some familiarity with Gallatin and might know how deep the woods were and what was beyond them. His best guess was that they weren’t too deep and that a subdivision or a farm or two weren’t far off in the distance.
Even if the stand of trees was only a few feet thick, they should be able to slip into them and not be discovered by the Guardsmen. George didn’t want to creep around in the darkened woods for too long, especially with the infected roaming around out there. There was no distant glow of city lights out beyond the woods, but he wondered if the power was still up and running anyway. Beside starlight, the only other light source was coming from the other side of the high school.
Another explosion had the little group grabbing for each other and Jennifer screamed, startled by the excruciatingly loud noise. The building vibrated and a bright light flashed overhead, casting dramatic shadows on the parking lot. The image was so bright it burned into George’s retinas and he spent the next thirty seconds trying to blink it away. More gunfire followed, louder and closer. He listened for any other noises he could differentiate from the explosions and was rewarded with sounds of men yelling and vehicles moving off in the distance. There was something else as well. It was a sound he could not quite decipher.
He turned to face the others. The plan wasn’t complicated. The woods were their best bet. They could angle away from the parking lot and go north—the trees dipped in at their closest point there and were only a hundred yards away from where they were now. They would avoid going deep into the woods unless they were spotted or in danger and would try to figure out the best direction to head after they got there.
Even when George could no longer hear any yelling or the sound of vehicles moving out in front of the high school, that other noise, the one he couldn’t quite put his finger on, continued. It was a constant hum, almost a buzzing. It was as if a massive hornet’s nest had been riled up.
George ignored the sound as he wrapped his hand around the door handle, ready to jump outside. It was then that he noticed something out in the dark—shadows moving out in the woods. Before he could take a closer look he heard the thudding of boots echoing down the hallway behind them. The four turned as one to stare back down the passageway. They couldn’t see anything, but heard yelling along with the echoes of gunfire and screams coming from inside the building. It had been muffled before, but now was much clearer.
George said a little prayer and opened the door, ushering the others outside where they pressed themselves up against the building. As soon as the door opened, sound thundered from all around them and the meager noise from inside was drowned out. The night sky flashed repeatedly with a lightshow that reflected off the woods beyond the parking lot. The shadows George had seen moments before were coalescing into human shapes moving through the woods toward them. He swung his arm out, pressing it against Al’s chest, who was about to depart their shadowy hiding place to rush for the woods as they had planned. George motioned for Al and the others to take a closer look at where they were headed.
A man had broken free of the trees. Behind him, several others followed. It was hard to tell if they were men or women with light flashing only intermittently on them.
At first, none of them could discern much about the man as he stumbled out from behind a tree and moved closer. After another flash of light from the front of the building, his face was lit up brighter than daylight for an instant.
Al hugged Jennifer and muffled her scream. The man moving out of the woods was dead. He wore a pair of overalls with a tremendous rip in them. The hole in the material was wet with blood and something that looked like tendrils dangled from the rift, bouncing against the soiled denim fabric as the stiff stumbled along. To George, it looked like the man had been torn open and then something had decided to dig into his guts haphazardly, pulling random bits and pieces out. As quickly as the man was showcased in all his malignant glory, the bright light blinked out and he was hidden from view once again.
They tried to remain calm as they huddled against the wall, watching as more of the human shaped monstrosities came from the woods. George recalled wondering if he had gone insane, because none of what he was seeing could be real. But as the lights flashed on more ghouls making their way toward the soldiers at the front of the building, he realized that this was far too horrible for his mind to have created on its own.
The quartet was still trying to grasp the full magnitude of this nightmare when another door, about thirty feet down from their position, opened and slammed against the brick wall. Another group of refugees poured out and ran toward the cars in the parking lot. They didn’t notice George’s group and apparently had not looked outside before bursting from the building. Based on how fast they were running, George guessed that something had scared the hell out of them inside.
One of the people in the other group, a heavy set man wearing a John Deere cap, was waving the rest on, getting them to fan out and check the cars for one or more that had keys in it. George hushed his crew to silence as the other group became loud enough to be heard over the clamor coming from the far side of the building.
When some of the shadowy forms to the north stopped their progress toward the front of the building and turned to face the parking lot, George knew his decision to remain quiet had been the right one. The infected switched direction and moved into the parking lot toward the other group. As George watched them, he blinked twice, hard. He could see more human shapes coming toward the other group of refugees, but these weren’t bunched together like the others. They were spread out, coming from … everywhere, from every direction past the parking lot-from across the field, from the woods … everywhere.
A dark thought trickled into George’s head. If these people hadn’t come along we would all be dead now. He would have led his group into the woods and right into the arms of the undead if the loud group of refugees had not drawn their attention first.
A screamed ripped through the air from the north side of the building and the thunder of numerous M16’s firing on full auto nearly shattered the foursome’s eardrums. The mix of sounds was joined by the screams of the group in the parking lot as they discovered the unwanted attention they had gained. George counted at least forty shapes closing in on the parking lot.
He motioned for his group to move south along the building, toward the larger student parking lot situated to their left and away from the other refugees. He put his finger to his lips and the others nodded, petrified. George knew he was just as terrified as Al, Jennifer, and Jason, but also knew that unless he found a way to fight through his fear he would never see his wife and daughters again.
Even as they kept moving, it was hard not to watch the larger group of refugees as they were slowly surrounded. Most of them were hysterical with fear, but they continued to search the vehicles in the lot. The first of the shambling monsters reached the edge of the parking lot with five others right behind it. They stumbled along, but did not falter as they stayed locked on the live targets in the lot.
A young man thought it would be a good idea to climb on top of one of the cars to get a better view of the lot. He then proceeded to leap from one car to the next, glancing down through each windshield as he did so. He was moving so fast that George wondered if he would be able to tell which car might have keys in the ignition, assuming that was the purpose of what he was doing. It was too dark for him to be having much luck, even as bright flashes of light lit up the sky every few seconds. After about a minute of this futile exercise he had gained the attention of several of the rotting figures. If he noticed he didn’t seem to care as he continued his jumps, each ending with a loud whump as he crashed into the hood of the next car in line. He got half way through one row of vehicles when he noticed a hand reaching up for him. He was out of its reach, but he panicked and twisted his body away from the grasping claws and slipped, flying headlong into the next car. A sickening thud accompanied the fall as his skull connected with a Taurus’s front quarter panel. George watched in horrified anticipation as several fiends closed on the young man’s position. A shaky hand grasped the hood of the sedan and the refugee woozily got to his feet. He steadied himself just in time for the first ghoul to arrive. A scream burst from his lips as another came from behind and together they dragged him back to the ground. George tried to ignore the sounds that followed, which could only be described as cannibalistic euphoria. He looked away and fought the urge to wretch.
All of them saw what had happened to the car jumper, but there were other things occurring at the same time. Several people tried to outsmart the stiffs by weaving and darting in and around the parked cars, but still found themselves trapped between vehicles. One or two put up a valiant struggle, but others appeared to give up almost immediately as they were surrounded by ravenous fiends.
A young woman, possibly in her mid-twenties or maybe younger, had a small girl in tow as they made their way through the lot, focused on testing every door handle they passed. On the third try, the woman struck pay dirt-a Mercedes station wagon was unlocked. The woman tossed the little girl into the passenger seat and climbed in after her. Looking around frantically, she found the automatic door lock and pressed it before searching for the keys. An elderly man in their group who was nearby witnessed the young woman’s success and moved in her direction. He jiggled the handle and knocking on the window, pleading with her to let him in. After a few moments, he pounded frantically on the window with the flat of his hand, his voice raising several octaves as his frail arms smacked against the glass.
The quartet all watched as a teenager moved up behind the old man. For a moment it appeared as if he was going to help him with the car door, working to convince the woman to let them join her inside. The kid was wearing a yellow tee shirt and as the light brightened and another explosion rattled everyone’s eardrums, George could see words tattooed across it: Bravo Echo Echo Romeo. When the young man gripped the old man’s hair and pulled his head back to take a huge bite out of his nose, George’s little group knew the truth. The bite caused a geyser of blood to splash across the window of the Mercedes, but even before the blood had stop spewing from the wound the monster had removed his hand from the septuagenarian’s hair and wrapped it around the old man’s body. The ghoul’s mouth never let loose of its prize as the two crashed to the ground. The old man’s bellows of rage at being locked out of the car turned into honking squeaks of terror, then gurgling noises as he died on the pavement. Two other rotters joined in the feast, but were thankfully hidden from view behind the cars.
The woman and child who had barricaded themselves inside the German luxury car were locked in a silent scream as they witnessed everything. The woman covered the child’s eyes as the horror grew on her face. Perhaps, George guessed, the man had been someone she knew, perhaps even a family member. She was unwilling to unlock the door for him and as punishment she had to bear witness to the complete desecration of his body.
George knew that it was time for them to get the hell out of there. There was nothing they could do for any of the other refugees.
With a muffled command, George looked away and gestured for the others to pick up the pace. They had to get as far away from the asphalt surface of the parking lot and the few remaining refugees there who were getting torn to pieces.
But when Jennifer screamed out Al’s name, George was forced to turn and see what was happening.
“Al! What the hell are you doing?” he yelled after the younger man, who had broken ranks and was running toward the Mercedes. That was when George was sure they were all going to die.
His gut clenched up and he turned to Jennifer, who was about to take off after her husband. “Stay here with Jason. I’ll get him back.” He grasped her shoulders firmly, giving them a quick squeeze, and was off. He didn’t look back, hoping that his false bravado would be enough to keep Jennifer from making the situation go from bad to worse.
It was the little girl. That was the only reason Al would do something so unbelievably stupid. Maybe he could bear to watch an old man and a few other unfortunates get ripped apart without losing his mind, but a little girl? It had been too much for Al to take.
George took off after his friend, but Al had at least a twenty foot head start and was already closing in on the car and the three ghouls that had wrestled the old man to the ground. George clenched his fists in anticipation of a battle he dreaded but knew was unavoidable.
As he ran, that sound was back in his ears-the buzzing noise that kept getting louder. They weren’t just close to the hornet’s nest, they were inside it. It tickled George’s eardrums and made him want to cram his fingers in his ears to block it out. It felt as if it was vibrating his entire body and set his teeth to chattering.
He looked ahead and saw the three shapes shifting and twisting together on top of the corpse they had ripped open next to the Mercedes. He could also smell them as he got closer: sickly sweet, like rotten fruit splattered on the ground, the juice thick and sticky.
Out of the corner of his eye, George saw even more of the damned souls coming onto the parking lot. Others were moving past the flat asphalt square, on their way to where the soldiers were firing their weapons continuously in front of the school.
Al moved into the group of stiffs on top of the old man and nearly slipped in the wide pool of blood beneath them, but regained his footing. George watched as he planted his foot and kicked at the head of the first monster—it was the teen that had pulled the old man down. He connected; his tennis shoe landing with an audible thud as the monster’s head rocketed backwards. George covered the short distance and stomped on another ghoul’s arm that was reaching out to grab Al’s leg, snapping the bone and forcing its head to the asphalt. Its skin ripped and black ooze squirted out onto George’s shoe, but he ignored it as he sent his fist slamming into the side of the third one’s face.
They were far too late to save the old man and George doubted that Al had even considered that. But in just a few seconds of furious violence, they pulped the three rotters that had torn the senior citizen to pieces.
Later George would spend a great deal of time thinking about what he had done that night. He had never killed anything before. He hadn’t even clipped a squirrel or a dog with his car. He had never been a hunter and tended to prefer words over fists, although he had gotten into a few unavoidable scrums in his time. He had never enjoyed the sight of someone else’s blood. But as he sent the heel of his dress shoe into the temple of the last of the flesh eating lunatics, his only thought was better him than me.
Al reacted quicker than George, not giving a second thought to their handiwork as he banged on the window of the Mercedes and attempted to open the car door. He pleaded with the woman to open up and let them help her and the little girl over and over again.
George knew it was a lost cause when he saw that the woman could not differentiate between Al and the creatures he’d just pummeled in front of her. Streaks of blood and darker substances were spattered on his face and arms. He looked half crazed as he hammered on the window glass. She seemed to be sliding into shock and the little girl was now curled up in a tight ball next to her. The woman kept shaking her head, but it was hard to believe it was in acknowledgement of anything Al was saying. It was an empty gesture, a denial of everything left in the world.
The buzzing in George’s ears was overwhelming him. There were no other sounds that could fight their way past it, not even Al’s frantic pleadings. It felt like the sound was consuming him. It went beyond an auditory signal—it was inside him, in his skin and deep within his bones.
That was when he finally knew what it was.
It was the cries of the dead; thousands of them. They were everywhere. It was their moans of agony and delight as they cried out for living flesh. They were not only surrounding his little group, but everyone who remained—the soldiers, the diminished group in the lot, and everyone huddled inside the schools.
They had to leave. They had to leave right that minute.
George grabbed Al, who continued to bang desperately on the door. The wiry young man wriggled out of his grasp and continued to scream incoherently at the woman who was, for all intents and purposes, already dead. George spied Jennifer running toward them, unable to follow his command as her husband came undone. Jason trailed her, looking as frightened and confused as George was feeling.
It was all going to be over soon. George made a quick decision. He chose to give up on Al and rushed to intercept Jennifer before she could get to him. George was not going to wrestle a grown man, but knew he could handle a woman half his size. He would try to get her and Jason out of harms way. Perhaps her screams as George carted her back toward the wall might be like a splash of cold water to Al. He’ll follow us, he’ll have to. It’s his only choice.
He wrapped his arms around Jennifer and dragged her back toward the wall. She screamed for her husband and thrashed in George’s grasp, but he wouldn’t let go. He tried to calm her down but she was hysterical. When he heard Al scream once again, not in frustration, but in pain, George did not let her go. He was still trying to calm her down before it sunk in what had happened.
He swung around with Jennifer in his arms and saw Al bent over, leaning against the car and beating at something that George could not see. The old man. It hit George like a bullet. He had turned. They had forgotten him. It was so stupid. Everyone turned.
George could only say “oomph!” as Jennifer aimed a knee at his groin. He dropped her and sunk to the ground. Jason ran passed him and George weakly reach out to grab at his leg. He missed and fell over on his face. He crawled back to his hands and knees and tried to see what was happening. There was a sea of cars in front of him, blocking his vision. He saw Jennifer’s head moving and Jason was right behind her, looking as if he was trying to pull her away from something. George spared a glance to his left and saw several more of undead closing on their position.
There’s no time left.
He winced as he got to his feet and stumbled over to the others. As he rounded a car and leaned on the hood of another he knew he was too late.
Al had finished off the old man, but his hand looked mangled and broken, at least one finger bone had pierced the skin on his right hand, although his hand was covered in so much blood that it was hard to tell how much damage there was. The old man’s head was nothing more than a pile of mush below him. Al was screaming in pain and Jennifer had her arms wrapped around him, her scream a sharp counterpoint to her husband’s. George realized that the hand was not the worst of it for Al when he saw his leg. A huge chunk of flesh and muscle had been torn away. The blood squirting from the wound was creating a river beneath him. Jason was screaming at Jennifer, close to crying. He was screaming for her to leave. The only one who wasn’t screaming was George.
Al was going into shock and vomiting on himself. He slumped down next to the all the people he and George had killed-if that was what you called putting something that was already dead down again. Blood was everywhere. Al was shaking, staring straight ahead. He had stopped screaming. The woman and little girl in the car were forgotten and so was everything else. Jennifer was pounding on her husband’s chest, pleading with him to get up.
George felt dizzy and the buzzing noise was drowning out everything else. This plague of the undead would sweep them all away; it would take each and every one of them away from all of this.
Would that be so bad?
It would be easy. Let things just happen and they would be free of all the screams and all the fear.
No.
George grabbed Jason and pulled him away from Jennifer. The boy resisted at first but then settled as he saw the dead moving toward them. The buzzing, the cacophony of moans, was reaching a crescendo. They would be here soon. George reached back and touched Jennifer on the shoulder. She had quieted some and she had her arms wrapped around her husband, holding him as if he was a life preserver—the only thing left to her. She looked away from Al for a moment and stared up at George.
He saw only despair in her eyes.
He extended his hand to her and willed her to take it, to lift herself up and come with him and Jason. He had one of his arms wrapped protectively around Jason who was staring at Jennifer, tears blurring his vision. Suddenly, it seemed like the buzzing stopped and all he could hear was the words Jennifer said as she looked at the boy one last time.
“Go with George, Jason. He’ll take care of you.”
It was the last thing she ever said. She turned away from them and buried her face against Al’s cheek. She closed her eyes and held him close. Al never stopped staring directly ahead as she pulled him in tight and kissed him on the cheek.
George whispered her name once, pleading. She would not turn away from her husband though. He stared at the newlyweds for a moment longer and then glanced inside the car. The woman continued shaking her head back and forth, denying that any of this was happening. She and the little girl were intertwined, the child’s head resting on the woman’s shoulder. George was tempted to bang on the glass, but Al was dying because of his attempt to save those two lost souls … Al and Jennifer both.
The buzzing came back to George’s ears, louder than ever. The moving corpses were closing in and it would be moments before they would lose even their miniscule chance at escape.
Jason did not struggle as George turned; dragging him away from the one person left on earth that he trusted. They didn’t look back as the dead closed in on their friends. George couldn’t bear to think of what was going to happen to them in just a few more moments.
As he and Jason turned the corner of the building they heard no screams, no cries for help from Al or Jennifer.
November 1, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark, Dark Stories | Tags: comes the dark, dark stories, horror, zombies | Leave a comment
I have read Tony Monchinski’s take on zombies in his Eden books and was intrigued by the opportunity given to me to check out his particular slant on vampires with his new series, ‘I Kill Monsters’, of which Fury is the first book. Tony is apparently confident that he will be writing this series for a while, because he has nine titles listed in total on the list of books he has written at the front of this novel. I have no doubt that Tony will complete these other books and credit him for having the vision to have them all lined up and titled already.
Fury is urban fantasy, with all the monsters of myth coming to life on the page, although the focus on this novel is the vampire. While other monster archetypes are hinted at, including Furies among others, a Genie out of its bottle is the only other creature we get to see in this tale. Most of the world doesn’t know about these strange creatures, as they remain hidden, although they are definitely a part of every day life in the world Tony has created here. This story takes place in New York City, and the author has a knack for working in that environment and breathing life into the characters that inhabit the city. I admire his skill at creating dialog that feels natural and unforced and is unique to the Big Apple. This story starts out with a group of thieves that work the vampires of the city-stealing blood from one clan and selling it to another. Though they are dealing with vampires, these guys are just like any other thieves you might meet-they do their jobs and then fade into the background, until the next job comes along. All except Boone, who is the muscle for the squad, and a guy who everyone wonders about-even other members of his crew. He doesn’t seem to have any restraints-he is a hardcore drug user, including steroids, which have turned him into a rage machine. The crew boss likes having him around, while just about everyone else doesn’t. Boone presents the reader with a great anti-hero. He is sort of like having a wild animal as a pet-they behave because you feed them, but you never know when their disposition may change. Boone is articulately drawn, intriguing, and fierce.
Tony has done what I believe he set out to do, which was to pushing vampires back into the darkness, making them the despised, wretched leaches on humanity that they actually are, versus the sweet, loving, romantic figures they have become in popular culture these days. Whether or not future installments in this series remains focused on vampires or stretches things to include other creatures of darkness remains to be seen, but I am anxious to see what Tony has in store for us next.
My only grumble here is that we are left hanging, with only hints at what Boone is to become. Given his personality and the name of the series, we can guess where things are headed, but I think we are in for some significant twists as he discovers his path in life.
You can find I Kill Monsters: Fury at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/I-Kill-Monsters-Tony-Monchinski/dp/1453677437/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1288218294&sr=8-1
October 27, 2010 | Categories: Other folk's stuff... | Tags: book review, horror, vampires | Leave a comment
I thought it would be a good idea to pass along a few updates on things. First off, I wanted to thank Frank and the other folks at That Book Place for their hospitality this past Saturday. The book signing with Ben Rogers was a great experience and their book store is a fantastic place. If you are ever near Madison, Indiana, you HAVE to check it out. Great used books and they can order up any new ones that you are interested in as well.
In other news, the second book in my trilogy, Into the Dark, has been sent off to be formatted. Yep, the editing is complete and my obsessive-compulsive need to read it fifteen times in an attempt to catch every last mistake (which you simply cannot do, no matter how hard you try) is done. It is now in the extremely capable hands of Kody Boye, who is a formatter extraordinare. Philip Rogers is currently working on the cover and has passed along a rough draft of the back cover of the book, which looks great. While I have not seen the art for the cover, the theme will be similar to what was on the first cover. The back also retains that same flavor and to say that I am excited to see what Philip comes up with is the understatement of the year.
I will be working on another “Dark Story”, which is actually a continuation of the previous one, and will be about George and Jason again, very soon. I am hoping to have something posted within the next week or so. I am presently going to focus on a short story that has been nagging me for a while and try to get it done in the next few days, then I will be editing the next DS for the blog.
And for you folks who have not seen the back cover synopsis for Into the Dark, here it is again, for your viewing pleasure:
Six weeks ago, the mysterious virus came out of nowhere and engulfed the world. Everyone infected seemed to die … then rise again.
Jeff Blaine did his best to hold his family together and to protect them from the horrors scratching at their door, but in the end, they were ripped away from him like everything else that ever mattered.
Lost and alone, Jeff decided his only option was to destroy as many of the monsters that stole his life away before they destroy him as well. But when he discovers Megan, George, and Jason, three other survivors not interested in giving up just yet, he reluctantly accepts that there might still be a reason to fight and live to see another day.
Traveling through the blasted landscape their world has become, the quartet discovers that the living dead aren’t the only danger with which they must cope. Even other survivors who promise safety and security from the hordes of ghouls roaming the wastelands will test loyalties and their faith in humankind.
Jeff and his small band of newfound friends must forge a semblance of life in the newly blighted world. And they will have only the light of their own humanity by which to navigate as everything around them descends into the dark.
More updates as they come up. As I have already mentioned, Into The Dark will be released between Thanksgiving and Christmas, so it is coming soon!
October 25, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark, My Writing Experiences | Tags: Book signing, comes the dark, cover art, dark stories, editing, horror, Into The Dark, Library of the Living Dead, short stories, writing, zombies | Leave a comment
Ben Rogers and I will be taking part in the Books of the Dead Signings at That Book Place in Madison, Indiana. It is located at 337 Clifty Drive and will run from 12-3. There will also be an opportunity for customers to dress up as zombies for this event, so it should be a real blast! I will be signing copies of my book, Comes The Dark, and Ben will be signing his book, Faith and The Undead.
You can check out That Book Place on the web, and become their fan on Facebook, at http://www.thatbookplace.com/. They did an interview with me back in July, which is posted on their website, and they do a lot of other great interviews and reviews of books. Please help support independent book stores like this one, because they bring you a lot of great books and authors that bigger chains seem to pass over.
Thanks!
October 22, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark, My Writing Experiences, Other folk's stuff..., Random Thoughts | Tags: Book signing, comes the dark, horror, Library of the Living Dead, zombies | Leave a comment
Check out the commercial for Library of the Living Dead Press that was shot at Horror Realm last month. A lot of folks were involved with this and I had the privilege of being one of the zombies in the commercial. It was a blast! I’m the guy with the bloody face, by the way. Wait…everyone had a bloody face, heh. I’m the guy with the red shirt, if that helps. Well, it doesn’t matter if you can’t find me in the crowd, because we’re zombies-we’re sorta supposed to be hard to tell apart.
Enjoy watching the video. I know I enjoyed being a part of the making of it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuBxKOEcVMQ
October 21, 2010 | Categories: My Writing Experiences, Random Thoughts | Tags: comes the dark, commercial, horror, Horror Realm, Library of Erotic Horror, Library of Horror, Library of Science Fiction and Fantasy, Library of the Living Dead, short stories, writing, zombies | Leave a comment
I just wanted to pass on my first update on the sequel to Comes The Dark. The original plan was to release it in January, but with sales for Comes The Dark going as well as the have been, the publisher wants to strike while the iron is hot and push up the release of the next book to somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I was flattered by this, as it is a major vote of confidence in my trilogy. Given that the final edits are complete on the manuscript and I am about to send the book off to be formatted, once we have a cover, the book will be ready to go. So for now, it looks like we might have an early December release, just in time for Christmas! I feel all retail-y and stuff with having the book ready by then!
It is also about time that I revealed the name to the sequel to the second book in the trilogy, since I haven’t officially mentioned it before. Heck, I can reveal the title of the third book as well, while I am at it. Again, the entire trilogy is already written, so while I currently don’t have a firm date for the third book’s release (because we bumped up the second book’s release date), but my guess is that it will be in late spring of 2011, best estimate.
So here they are. The second book will be entitled: Into The Dark and the third book will be called Beyond The Dark. The artwork for all three covers is being done by the incredible Philip R. Rogers and the second and third cover will retain the same feel as the first one, though I am not exactly sure what either will look like. I think I will know pretty soon about the second cover-at least a rough sketch, and I am excited about checking that out. Philip’s work is awesome and if you ever need an artist, check out his work at philipr.deviantart.com/gallery/.
Okay, so here is the back cover description for Into The Dark:
Six weeks ago, the mysterious virus came out of nowhere and engulfed the world. Everyone infected seemed to die … then rise again.
Jeff Blaine did his best to hold his family together and to protect them from the horrors scratching at their door, but in the end, they were ripped away from him like everything else that ever mattered.
Lost and alone, Jeff decided his only option was to destroy as many of the monsters that stole his life away before they destroy him as well. But when he discovers Megan, George, and Jason, three other survivors not interested in giving up just yet, he reluctantly accepts that there might still be a reason to fight and live to see another day.
Traveling through the blasted landscape their world has become, the quartet discovers that the living dead aren’t the only danger with which they must cope. Even other survivors who promise safety and security from the hordes of ghouls roaming the wastelands will test loyalties and their faith in humankind.
Jeff and his small band of newfound friends must forge a semblance of life in the newly blighted world. And they will have only the light of their own humanity by which to navigate as everything around them descends into the dark.
Again, the book should be released sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I am already getting excited about it!
October 19, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark | Tags: comes the dark, cover art, horror, Into The Dark, Library of the Living Dead, writing, zombies | Leave a comment
If you are looking to check out a great zombie anthology, there are plenty I could recommend. I am excited about the fact that Eye Witness: Zombie got a detailed review over at Zombiephile that talks about each story in detail that is included within its pages. Terrific review and I am proud to be a part of this one. Check it out over at: http://www.zombiephiles.com/zombies-ate-my-brains/may-december-publications-releases-new-zombie-anthology-eye-witness-zombie
October 17, 2010 | Categories: Other folk's stuff..., The Shorts | Tags: horror, May December Publishers, short stories, zombies | 2 Comments
It is great to have friends who are willing to let you tag along with them! I get the opportunity to be at the Halloween Express up in Dayton, Ohio this Saturday with my good friend Ben Rogers, thanks to Beth LaFond, his publicist, who always sees if I am available for anything they plan in the area. Many thanks to Beth and Ben for allowing me to take part in this event.
We will be selling and signing copies of our books. I have reviewed Ben’s Faith and the Undead here on my blog not so long ago, so check that out, and if you live in the Dayton/Cincinnati area and haven’t had the chance to pick up a copy of either Ben’s book or mine, stop by! Even if you have already and want to get us to sign your copy, we would love to do so. It should be a lot of fun, so check it out!
Here is the posting that Halloween Express made for this event on their Facebook page:
Halloween Express/Dayton/Columbus Benjamin Rogers, author of “Faith and the Undead” and Patrick D’Orazio author of “Comes the Dark” will be at our Beavercreek location on Saturday October 16th for book signings. 2750 suite B. N. Fairfield Rd. Beavercreek Ohio 45431
So definitely check it out! We will be there officially from 11-4, but ya never know, we might just stick around after that
October 14, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark, My Writing Experiences, Other folk's stuff... | Tags: Book signing, comes the dark, Library of the Living Dead, zombies | Leave a comment
I had written quite a long introduction to George and Jason in my original manuscript for Comes The Dark. It was for the best that it didn’t make the final cut, because it ended up being a story that would have taken away from the flow and tempo of the book. But much like the story that I had written for Megan, it gave the reader a more in depth understanding of what these characters had gone through before they were introduced in the book.
I am not sure how many parts George and Jason’s story will have, but as I edit them, I will post them here, on my blog. Forgive me for any editing errors-I tried to catch them before posting this, but I am sure some have slipped through.
So here it is:
George and Jason, Part 1
The sandy haired man took a swig from the bottle of lukewarm water. He glanced briefly at the image of ice capped mountains on the label and grimaced at the taste. At least it wasn’t hot, although he wouldn’t gripe if it was. But a visual of a mountain stream filled with pure, icy cold water was a stretch. His world was not filled with breath taking vistas and bracing winds. Instead, there were dark, confining walls and thick, muggy air.
“Ahhh.”
The sound was exaggerated and the marketers of Mountain Ice would have appreciated it … if they weren’t all dead. In fact, just about everyone they’d pitched their product to were dead too. So the sarcastic sound of satisfaction was pointless. George didn’t care, because just about everything was pointless these days.
He stood in the dark backroom and tried to push away the depressing thought. It was damned hard, but he had to believe it was still worth the effort. He was in one piece after everything he’d been through. Be grateful for the little things. It was his mantra these days.
George cut an impressive form. At six two and slightly over two hundred and forty pounds he was thickly built and muscular. The graying at the temples and creases in the skin around his eyes might convince some that he was past his competitive prime, but when they saw him move they would likely backtrack on such an assessment. George was naturally athletic, but as he’d hit middle age he discovered he had to work twice as hard to keep up with the kids half his age.
George wondered why he still bothered. Exercise seemed rather pointless anymore. Old habits die hard. He knew it was true enough, but that wasn’t all of it. So he went through the stomach crunches, push ups, sit ups, and anything else he could do in the silence of the dark and dusty rooms of the church he was stuck in knowing that as he tried so hard to exhaust his body, he was trying even harder to keep his mind occupied.
George surveyed the crowded back room. It was a storage closet in the place he’d called home for over a month now. Cardboard crates and cartons were stacked up against the far wall; corrugated sentinels guarding the abandoned building against the onslaught of dust bunnies and silverfish. Several boxes had been torn into and emptied of their content. George sighed as he did a count of what remained. He was sick and tired of the sticky sweet juice boxes and stale cheese and peanut butter crackers stored for the daycare and kindergarten programs the church ran. He relished the occasional water bottle, but soon the case of Mountain Ice that they’d been rationing at one bottle a day would be gone.
For what might have been the thousandth time, he sighed and shook his head. How did it come to this? He nudged one of the half filled boxes with his big toe and resisted the urge to kick it against the wall. This was all they had left.
George walked out into the gymnasium. The daylight shining down through the skylights was a Godsend. All the doors and windows on the first floor were blocked up or covered with plywood and cafeteria tables. The light felt good, but didn’t cheer him up. Whether George was in the gym or one of the few other areas he could roam freely in the building, he felt as if he were in perpetual darkness.
George mouthed a silent prayer for the strength to get through another day as he walked across the hardwood floor. It was one of dozens of little prayers he uttered these days. He hadn’t been a devout Christian before the plague-sure, he believed in God, but attending church was something he did on autopilot. It could salve a guilty conscience, demonstrate devotion, or set a good example for his daughters, but it had mostly been a façade, a convenient cover-up for someone who couldn’t be bothered to care anymore.
It shocked him when Helen decided to convert to his religion years ago. George was not gung ho about the idea, but she insisted. When Roxanne was born, religion all the sudden became that much more vital to Helen and she pressed George to become more active in the church. In his mind it felt as if he wife was steamrolling him, but he loved her too much not to cave to the pressure. He had to admit that without Helen’s religious zeal his children might have grown up clueless about God and faith in general. She made sure they were baptized, went to Sunday school, and took communion … the whole nine yards. George sat back and watched, content in knowing that his wife had taken on that mantle of responsibility and was doing a bang up job of it.
Now, in the aftermath of the hell the world had become, he’d been “reborn”. The pillars of the world had crumbled and that’s when the praying started. It came in a rush-there was no gradual transformation. George comprehended the error of his ways and that changed him irrevocably. He would recite prayers on an almost hourly basis, and they had an element of gratitude in them—he thanked God for tolerating a last second convert. Perhaps that was why he was still alive: he’d been given the chance to repent his sins and to rectify for his past mistakes.
George’s mind switched gears as he thought about the boy for a moment. They were trapped in this place together, but the pre-teen was so distant it felt as if he were somewhere else entirely. George had tried to get Jason to warm up to him, tried to get him to talk or even pray, but the kid cared little about God or anything else for that matter. That was no surprise, but was still frustrating. All they had was each other, but Jason acted as if even that was too much to deal with.
The boy had been that way ever since Jennifer had given up on him. That was when George had assumed the mantle of responsibility for Jason, but it was clear the damage caused by her decision had been profound. Those cannibal bastards roaming around outside couldn’t have ripped him apart any more thoroughly. Jason had been gutted, just not in a physical sense.
So George prayed alone.
George prayed for the boy, he prayed for both their souls, and he prayed for guidance. He prayed for strength and the ability to avoiding going insane. He also prayed for mercy and forgiveness. But mostly, he prayed for his wife and two daughters waiting for him back home.
George basked in the bright sunlight and tried to appreciate the warmth it gave off. His footsteps echoed as he walked across the gym. There was no rush to get to the door. These days there was little need to rush anywhere.
George resisted the urge to open the closet housing the basketballs so he could take a few shots with one. Working up a sweat would be great—it might even take his mind off of everything for a bit. Unfortunately, the dead were right outside. If they heard him, his struggles over the past month would be all for naught.
It was luck that had gotten him this far. All sorts of it: bad luck that the world had gone Looney Tunes, good luck that he had made it to the church with Jason alive and dumb luck that they had survived this long.
He would have run long ago. To hell with the walking corpses outside, he would have risked them and all the dangers they posed. They were frightening, those rotting mockeries of life, but more so, they were sad. When George looked into their eyes they seemed lost. They no longer knew who or what they once had been. They weren’t too sharp and he was certain he could slip past them if he was careful. The volume of abandoned vehicles on the road was staggering: he could have his pick of ones with the keys still in the ignition and enough gas to get him all the way home.
He would have done it already, had it not been for Jason.
***
There had been four of them originally: Jennifer, Al, George, and Jason. They had escaped the shelter together when things had gone bad. The high school was filled with refugees just like them, all crammed in the gym—a thousand or more at least. So many, in fact, the soldiers had to funnel newcomers over to the elementary school across the street. At first the refugees were mainly locals; residents of Gallatin and the surrounding area urged to head to the local shelter and wait out the chaos there.
Things had been easy for the early arrivals. There was plenty of room and a belief that the troubles outside would be resolved quickly. It was when people started pouring in from all over the region that the sense of optimism faltered. They brought with them stories of the city’s doom.
The Guardsmen did a good job of getting everyone settled and even squelching rumors of how things had gone from bad to unbelievably worse in the space of just a few days. Not just in Cincinnati but everywhere. But despite their best efforts, every new group brought with them horrific stories that spread like wildfire. Tales would spread from cot to cot, group to group. There was little else to do in the cramped gymnasium except to gossip and the only topic to gossip about was how bad things were out there.
George had been tossed unceremoniously into the shelter and knew no one there. With no family or neighbors to powwow with, he gathered what information he could by spying on other’s conversations. The city was burning; it was dying before their very eyes. The dead were coming back to life, attacking the living and transforming them into similar monstrosities.
The undead were everywhere. At first, reports were that they’d been contained. But outbreaks which started in some of the more blighted neighborhoods around the city spread rapidly. The National Guard would cordon off one area and an outbreak would be reported elsewhere. There appeared to be no way to pinpoint a source contaminant in the city at all. Someone would be bitten and then flee to another part of town. They would die, reanimate, and start the cycle all over again.
Nothing the military did seemed to make any headway and despite the best efforts to house refugees and protect them, everyone stuck in the Gallatin High School was getting the sense that there was nothing anyone, including the military, could do to stop this plague from engulfing everything.
The stories that came in were hard for George to swallow at first, but the volume of them wore him down as they did everyone else, until it was hard to deny what was happening. There were comparisons to Auschwitz and the battlefields of Vietnam. Dump trucks filled with corpses stacked like cordwood were driven through the city’s neighborhoods as soldiers in hazmat outfits dragged dead bodies out of houses and loaded them up. Crematoriums were set up around the city to euthanize or dispose of those who had been infected. ‘Emergency Virus Centers,’ were also set up—people could take those who were sick there to be treated. But treatment had a tendency to make a person disappear. Families and even churches had taken to hiding those who had been bitten, despite the government’s rather rapid enactment of laws calling for the execution of those offering safe harbor for the infected. Promises of a cure, or of genuine treatments, saturated the airwaves at first then tapered off as everyone stopped believing them.
Newer refugees arriving at the high school made it clear that shelters and the small areas surrounding their locations were the only places the government had control of anymore. Everywhere else, rioters and looters made it impossible for the military to differentiate between the undead and those who were just angry and desperate. There were still pockets of resistance against the inexorable march of the dead—citizen militias banding together and barricading themselves in apartment complexes, office buildings, and other makeshift fortresses. Others chose to lock their front doors and turn off their lights with the hope that death would pass them by. But even the most optimistic newcomers to the shelter admitted that most of those people had fared even worse than the National Guard troops committed to defending them.
The shelters were supposed to be beacons of hope. That’s essentially what the soldiers with the bullhorns said as they drove up and down the streets. It was what the government had claimed on television and radio. They were places citizens should go to insure their safety. George did not want to be here, separated from his family, but he did believe he was safe there, at first. Until he saw how some seeking sanctuary were treated. Those who had been bitten were forcefully separated from family members who naively believed all were welcome. Those who were docile or already in a state of shock would accept this, believing that the best possible treatments were being made available to those that had been bitten and they would be reunited with their family members once they had been vaccinated, or whatever it was the government doctors were doing to them. Others weren’t so understanding. In those cases, things tended to get ugly, fast. Fights would erupt in the hall where newcomers were processed and inspected for wounds and infections. Family members would scream and attack soldiers tasked with the responsibility of loading the infected onto the trucks to be sent away … to where, no one was ever told.
It was clear that most of the soldiers were losing the battle to stay impartial and focused on their duties. George knew that as National Guard troops, most of them were locals. They had grown up in the area and knew a lot of the people they were sending off for ‘treatment’. He could not imagine how hard these assigned duties were on them.
The shelter became something akin to a small city; people were jammed in shoulder to shoulder, attempting to live whatever lives they could under such horrid circumstances. George witnessed transactions for drugs and sex, theft, and acts far more foul. He felt helpless and that all hope for the human race was lost.
That was when George began to pray.
It wasn’t hard to surmise that it was like this the entire world over. The virus had first hit overseas, in several different areas of the globe, seemingly overnight. No one could figure out where it had started. It then hit North American with cases reported in Toronto, Canada and Monterrey, Mexico. Before the borders could be sealed, there were cases reported in Baltimore and Denver. The National Guard moved in quickly, imposing rules and taking over from the civil authorities. The army was next: men and women returning from war zones in Iraq, Afghanistan, and U.S. military bases all over the world. The President recalled all troops to the Homeland in one fell swoop. But by then, the country was already in the grasping fist of the plague. Martial Law or it equivalent had been enacted in every corner of the globe, but there was nothing but complete and utter anarchy to show for it.
It was not the fondest of memories, thinking back to those days in the shelter, but as George remained stuck inside the church he and Jason were hiding out in, his mind kept reliving everything that had led up to his arrival there.
The sad part, the truly saddest part of it all, was that it could have been avoided. He had been staying at a local hotel and knew he should have left the moment he realized that the plague that had been sweeping the globe had arrived in his little corner of Ohio. Even later, when the hotel manager had come knocking at his door telling him he had five minutes to pack his belongings and get out in front of the hotel where a squad of National Guard soldiers were waiting, he should have ran.
Wildwood, where George lived, was less than an hour away. Even the traffic clogging the highways wouldn’t have been an issue. He knew plenty of back roads. Sure, it would have been dangerous, but he would have been with his family instead of stuck here in this dusty old church.
***
George opened the door leading to the stairwell, being careful not to let the door slam behind him. He began the short climb that would take him to the second floor.
***
George remembered when Jennifer and Al came to the shelter. Befriending the newlyweds had been the only good thing that had happened to him since he had gotten there. They had moved to Ohio only weeks before and knew no one in the city except for a few new coworkers of Al’s.
They had tried to leave Cincinnati, but the airport had been closed to non-military transport. Buses and train lines were shut down as well. Highways and most main roads became and remained jammed or blockaded by the military. So Al and Jennifer decided to leave their modest apartment in Gallatin and made their way to the closest shelter.
George was a naturally friendly person and when he smiled at the young couple they latched onto him immediately. They took comfort in his assurances that this would all blow over and they would all be back to their homes leading normal lives in no time.
A day later Jason showed up. He was terrified and alone, a twelve year old boy that had lost his mother. He had been put in with the other orphans and there were a shockingly high number of them. George didn’t pay him any attention at first, but Jennifer befriended him. She’d spent time teaching daycare and volunteered to tend to the children in the shelter. Perhaps it was her gentle nature, or the fact that she was quite attractive-whatever it was, Jason took to her immediately. Within a single day she had “adopted” him, convincing the soldiers to allow his cot to be moved next to her and Al’s. Al didn’t mind at all and welcomed the boy into their little clique.
It wasn’t long after when George had his last phone conversation with Helen. She begged him to come home as soon as possible and he promised her over and over that he would. She talked about the attacks in Dayton, but how Wildwood was still safe, for the most part. She would hold up in their house with the girls until he managed to find a way to leave the shelter. He told her to put boards up over the windows and doors and that everything would be fine until he returned home. If they stayed out of sight, no one would bother them.
***
That had been six weeks ago.
After that, the cellular network broke down completely. That last call would be burned onto George’s mind forever and was part of the reason why he was obsessed with getting home, no matter how impossible that goal might be. But until he figured out what to do with the young boy he was responsible for, his journey would have to wait. George had made a promise to Jennifer and to God above, and he intended to keep it. Taking Jason out into the hell the world had become was not a part of that promise.
George dragged up the stairs and reached the second floor. He opened the door leading to the narrow hallway and the rooms he and Jason spent most of their time in these days. The first floor was less closed in and had all their food and water, but the second floor felt safer. There was a much smaller chance of being discovered up here, in this little hideaway. If the time came when they were forced to evacuate the building, the second floor was not the best place to be since there was only one set of stairs, but knowing that the ghouls outside couldn’t break through their meager barricades and be on top of them right away help them to fall asleep at night.
***
The shelter turned into a madhouse a week after George got there. He guessed that it was getting almost as bad inside as it was outside, with the tension increasing tenfold every day. At first, when there was plenty of room and assurances that everything would be okay, it felt almost festive in the gymnasium. There were jokes and laughter and even sing-alongs. But after a few days, everyone was realizing they were trapped and might be for a very long time. That was when many of the refugees came unglued.
Various factions and even several gangs cropped up. Younger men began banding together for the purpose of intimidating the other residents. Whether for money or cheap thrills, it served as a distraction for them. The soldiers clamped down at first, responding to complaints and separating the troublemakers. But life was wearing on them as much as the people they were protecting, and after a while they left the refugees to their own devices, for the most part. As long as there wasn’t any obvious violence or disturbances, the Guardsmen didn’t interfere.
George became the protector over his little clan. He used his size to intimidate predators, who typically chose to seek out less daunting prey. The key was looking them in the eye and not backing off. A few well placed and meaningful looks at the leaders of the gangs was enough to convince them to stay away from him and his “family.”
They were confined to the gym and cafeteria in the high school for the most part. The National Guard had taken over the classrooms in the building for their living quarters. Refugees had been given limited access to the library at first, but the privilege was revoked when more and more fights broke out there. George knew things had moved over to the realm of complete insanity when soldiers decided to lock everyone in the gym one night instead of trying to break up a battle between two newly formed rival gangs. He and Al followed the lead of several other people and flipped over their cots to create a makeshift barricade to hide behind. It worked fairly well and kept George and his small troop out of the way of the fists and knives being thrown around. Weapons had been confiscated as everyone had entered the shelter, but it was no surprise that smaller pocket knifes and even a few hunting knives had gotten through. Those without weapons improvised, with wooden posts broken off cots and even several shivs appearing. That made it clear to George that the shelter had become a prison in virtually every way possible.
Thirty minutes after the brawl broke out, tear gas was tossed into the gym and almost everyone lost their desire to fight. No official count was made after the soldiers moved in to deal with those who were still interested in fighting, but at least a handful of people died in the chaos and a much larger number were injured. The bodies were hauled out and the soldiers thrust first aid kits into the hands of anyone still standing, forcing them to tend to the injured.
Perceived trouble makers were rounded up and dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the shelter. George wasn’t sure what happened to them, but as he lay awake in the middle of that night, he heard muffled shots being fired from automatic weapons outside the high school. After that, previously loud complaints turned into whispered grumblings and most of the refugees steered clear of the soldiers patrolling the gym.
That was when George and his new found friends decided it was time to plan their escape.
October 6, 2010 | Categories: Dark Stories | Tags: comes the dark, dark stories, horror, Library of the Living Dead, writing, zombies | Leave a comment
Not to long ago, fellow writer Jamie Eyberg passed away with his wife in a tragic accident near their family home in Iowa. Jamie and Ann left behind two young children. Jamie had been a staple over at The Library of the Living Dead Press message boards, and I had the privilege of appearing with him in The Zombist, an anthology of old west zombie tales. His works have appeared in several other anthologies from the Library and elsewhere. It is always heartbreaking when someone’s life gets cut short, but it is a small comfort when we can do something to remember that person, and help those around them who have suffered the greatest by their loss.
Kody Boye, another one of the members of the Library forums, has put together a list of auctions over on ebay whose proceeds will go to benefit the Eyberg children. One of the auction bundles has my book, Comes The Dark, in it. There are several auctions, so I would encourage everyone out there to consider bidding on one of them. You will get some terrific reading material with any of them you choose, and the proceeds will go to a tremendous cause.
Hit the link here: http://shop.ebay.com/kboye/m.html?_nkw&_armrs=1&_from&_ipg=25
Please consider bidding. Thanks!
October 5, 2010 | Categories: Random Thoughts | Tags: charity, horror, Library of the Living Dead, westerns | Leave a comment
Good and evil have done battle down through time with mankind as it pawns. This time, Satan has decided to play for keeps., having grown weary of all the jabs and feints of these minor battles that came before and decides to go for broke. So through the helpful hands of a twisted scientist, he unleashes hell on earth in the form of the living dead. They will swarm the living and turn them all into Satan’s dark minions, insuring his victory over God. But there is something that Satan has not foreseen, and that is that only those without faith can be turned into the empty, soulless shells that crave human flesh. Others with faith who are bitten simply die. And thus the battle for supremacy over the earth begins.
Frank Payens gets introduced to the reader as the start of the apocalypse is occurring. He is a man who has been on a quest to find something called The Home, which is rumored to be a place where ex-military can come to and find peace after absorbing a lifetime of psychological and physical scars in battle. Frank is a former Navy SEAL who doesn’t realize that he has been chosen to become a leader at The Home, which is not just a place where veterans go to forget, but go to prepare for the final cataclysm.
That is the basic overview of the novel, Faith & The Undead, at least at the start. This is not your traditional zombie apocalypse novel, though it has been written by someone who is a devoted fan of traditional Romero zombies, which shines through in this novel. As the minions of Satan, the undead in this book are bound to do his bidding, but other than that, they are your traditional slow-moving flesh eaters from the grave. A few other authors, such as Kim Paffenroth, Mark Rogers, and perhaps even Brian Keene have brought in religious overtones to their zombie novels (Keene might be considered a stretch, but his zombies are in fact demons from beyond the void, so I will include them here), so it is not as if Faith & The Undead stands alone in that regard, but I haven’t seen such a clear depiction of the battle between God and Satan on display in any other zombie books I have read before. In most zombie novels, the main and secondary characters will spend time questioning their faith, questioning whether God has abandoned or cursed them, and even the best amongst them will have ample reason to act in evil and selfish ways as it suits them during the atrocities occurring all around them during the apocalypse. That does not appear to be something that will crop up here. The lines in Faith & The Undead are very well defined between good and evil, and while evil has the upper hand on earth, good is not backing down, as it tends to do in most zombie novels. The Home is prepared for war and I believe we shall see a hell of a war (pardon the pun) in the second and third installments in this trilogy. While I do love the conflicts that tend to occur among survivors in most zombie novels-the tormented characters who struggle to do what is right but tend to lose their humanity by inches as they do, I like the idea of humanity not being such pushovers, which is what this story offers. It will be fun to watch as Humanity, or what remains of it, stands united in the fight against the Devil and his dark followers.
As I always do, I think it only fair to point out what I am critical about with each particular book I read, and so here it is with Faith & The Undead. I think for the first part of the book, the author was working hard to set things up for the trilogy and it seemed somewhat forced in places. I felt that there needed to be more about Frank Payens and his personal struggles before arriving at The Home, and more skepticism on his part about The Home upon his arrival. It takes very little prodding for him to essentially commit the rest of his life to these people he barely knows without so much as batting an eye. Perhaps that is in his nature, but because of the lack of background on him that the reader is given, it seems too abrupt. I do realize that more shall be revealed of Frank with the second and third novels in this trilogy, but I would have liked to have gotten to know him better before things got cooking here. Even if the assumption is that he does accept this path, the internal struggles and the dynamic of that would have been intriguing to see more of. But as the book rolled on, I started forget about this minor quibble as the apocalypse went into high gear and the author seemed to get down to business. The action sequences were tight and there were solid introductions to interesting characters, such as Karen, who is a refugee trying to find her way to The Home, which has opened its doors to anyone who can make it there alive.
There is plenty to like in this novel, and a lot of it has to do with the promise of what is to come in the second and third installments, when the battle for humanity gets into full swing. This is a good start to a promising trilogy, and I am very interested to see what Mr. Rogers comes up with next.
Faith & The Undead can be found at http://www.amazon.com/Faith-Undead-Benjamin-Rogers/dp/1452869820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1285870690&sr=1-1
September 30, 2010 | Categories: Other folk's stuff... | Tags: Apocalypse, book review, horror, Library of the Living Dead, zombies | Leave a comment
Check out the new review for Comes The Dark over at BuyZombie.com. I always like reviews like this one, because they present what they feel is the bad along with the good, which in turn helps the writer to grow and improve. So I am very pleased with this review, which acknowledges that my book isn’t perfect, but is still a good read. That is all that I can ask for!
http://www.buyzombie.com/2010/09/27/reviews-of-zombie-related-things/comes-the-dark-review/
September 27, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark | Tags: book review, comes the dark, horror, Library of the Living Dead, zombies | Leave a comment
My interview with Sonar 4 tonight, for those who didn’t get the chance to check it out live.
Lori Titus and Tonia Brown did a great job and it was a lot of fun talking about Comes The Dark, some of my short stories, and the absolutely horrendous book I wrote back in high school that remains locked away forever.
Check it out!
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/sonar4magtalkshow
September 26, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark, My Writing Experiences, Random Thoughts, The Shorts | Tags: Apocalypse, Bizarro, comedy, comes the dark, cover art, horror, Horror Realm, interview, Library of Erotic Horror, Library of Fantasy, Library of Horror, Library of Science Fiction and Fantasy, Library of the Living Dead, science fiction, Superheroes, writer, writing, zombies | Leave a comment
Layne Prescott is an expatriate returning home to Lilly’s End, Florida from his teaching post in China for the funeral of his father. As he and his girlfriend Tara sit waiting in the airport for their plane that will take them across the Pacific, they meet up with a Mr. Scott, who has a briefcase attached to his wrist by a handcuff in an airport bar. After they land in Florida and meet up with old friends, Layne discovers the same briefcase stuffed inside his luggage. From there, things get dangerously strange, as the world falls apart at 11:23, every twelve hours all over Lilly’s End. People go mad, tearing each other apart, and then killing themselves when there is no one else left to assault. The town is shut off by the government and lies about a smallpox outbreak keep the outside world at bay. All the while, everyone still alive inside of Lilly’s End is rapidly going mad, taking things into their own hands, while Layne and a few of his friends attempt to understand what is behind all of this and try to figure out what they can do to escape it.
That is the glossy overview of this story. Underneath that, this 300 page novel is thick with conspiracy, generation why angst, and a constant flow of confusion, deception, and things for the reader to ponder. I have read Jason Hornsby’s previous novel, Every Sigh, The End, and for a long stretch of that book I despised the main character for his self absorbed approach to life, which takes a radical turn as truths about the world are revealed around him. In many ways, I can say that there are parallels between that book and this one, although Hornsby’s writing has definitely matured with this book. It is clear that this is a Hornsby book-I could have picked it out blindfolded after reading several chapters. As another reviewer has put it, no one creates young, disaffected characters quite like this author. They are disagreeable, argumentative, self-absorbed, and irresistibly fascinating. It is hard to describe effectively, but while it is hard to feel much pity for the characters throughout a great swath of this book, in the end their misery is tangible, palpable, real, and you feel it along with them. Layne is one of those characters who would constantly confound you, but if you peeled away most of his facade, he would seem to be one of the most vulnerable people you might ever know. At least that was the sense I got.
I think after reading my first Hornsby book, I got the sense that the author and I would have very little in common, very little that would connect us. My presumption was that he was much like the characters he wrote. I had the chance to meet the author at a Horror Convention recently and I realized then that this was far from the truth. Hornsby just has a knack for writing characters that make you feel like you are biting down on tinfoil. He has a talent for that.
I will readily admit that I am not much of a conspiracy theorist, and as such, I probably don’t rate as someone who is a judge of the conspiracies that Hornsby presents in this novel, but I will say this-I felt pretty damn squeamish as more and more was revealed in this story, as my imagination was sparked and I tried to comprehend how deep and dark the rabbit hole the author had created was. Mr. Hornsby has created a novel that provides the disaffected youth he writes about with a nightmarish world that is even worse than they could ever imagine, which is quite a trick to pull off. This story was creative, wild, and forces you to pay attention to it at every step. But even if you do, there is more than meets the eye, and will give you something to think about long after you put the book down.
Eleven Twenty-Three can be found at http://www.amazon.com/Eleven-Twenty-Three-Jason-S-Hornsby/dp/1934861340/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1285374627&sr=1-1
September 24, 2010 | Categories: Other folk's stuff... | Tags: book review, ghosts, government conspiracy, horror, Permuted Press | Leave a comment
Here is Part 2 of Megan’s story. This leads up to her initial meeting with Jeff in Comes The Dark.
There will be more in upcoming weeks as I continue to sift through my old manuscript and try to dig free bits and pieces that I think might be worthwhile and contribute to the overall story of my trilogy.
I hope you enjoy it.
Please note: I will be posting all of these stories in order on the page entitled “Dark Stories” on this blog, so they won’t be difficult to find for anyone who discovers them later on. As the second and third book are released, I will post more stories there and in regular posts as well.
Megan, Part 2
There was plenty of noise outside. Beyond the reinforced doors and boarded up windows, she heard them. The infected had come to the neighborhood in force. Megan could hear the moaning and every now and then a scream.
Sometimes they were close. So close that they seemed to be right outside the window. And when Megan heard them that close, it wasn’t the moaning that bothered her. It was something far worse. She tried hard to pretend she didn’t hear it, but it burrowed down beneath the thick layer of blankets and pillows she had shrouded herself with. It burrowed into her ears and down into her soul.
It was the sound of them eating.
That was when Megan realized there were far worse ways to go than suicide or being forced to starve to death as you waited in the darkness, alone.
The fear that those things might discover her hiding place opened up a black and shriveled up part of Megan. The idea of them breaking in and tearing through the house, which would force her to pull the trigger again, held her in thrall for days at a time.
But they never came for her.
One particular memory of those dark days stuck in Megan’s mind. It must have been a couple of weeks after everything had fallen apart. A giant crash echoed up and down the street as several gun shots were fired. Megan refused to look past the blinds and see what was transpiring outside.
She did sit up in bed and then froze, staring at her shuttered window, wanting to go to it, wanting to do something to help whoever was out there.
Megan was terrible at categorizing guns or the report that occurred when any were fired, but the shots sounded like they had come from a rifle. After the first few shots a different weapon discharged and sounded similar to the handgun sitting on her nightstand.
The gunfire had snapped Megan out of the paralysis for a moment, but even as her heart raced and she had to steady her breathing to avoid hyperventilating, she could feel lethargy creeping back in. She shivered inside the sweat drenched night shirt she’d been wearing for days as she pushed her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up, her legs aching in protest as she did.
Megan hovered near the window but refused to pull the shade to look out onto her sun drenched street. The monsters out there were not coming for her this time, so she could drown in her sheets and pillows once again.
As the gunshots played out and the screams began, Megan stared at the .357 Magnum. What amount of energy would it take to burst through the front door and rush to the aid of the people out there? Wouldn’t trying to help be better than burying herself alive once again?
But in the end, all Megan did was stand next to her bedroom window and listen to the cries of agony, the sounds of pleading, and ripping and tearing that always came at the end of the attacks. She listened and let her mind create images of what was going on outside, because she couldn’t bear bending the blinds to know for sure.
There were more crashing noises and the gunshots subsided. The moans and screams grew frantic, an opera of voices covering every octave. Megan wanted to close them off but couldn’t. She couldn’t react at all-to help or to hide. She knew this was her punishment for letting Dalton die … and for participating in his death.
That was when Megan started to scream.
It took her a few moments to realize what she was doing. She was screaming into a pillow she had managed to pull off the bed.
Even as she screamed, Megan had a moment of clarity. The only thing to hope for was that it would go fast for whoever was being attacked. For the next few minutes all she heard was an increase in moans as her muffled screams were drowned out. More and more of the infected joined their brethren to take down the survivors.
Later, Megan realized then that her screams had stopped and her throat was a ragged mess. She had ripped it raw. She remained standing, holding her pillow with quiet desperation, as the undead tended to their needs outside.
At that point, someone must have broken free of the house they’d been hiding in and got out to the yard, and perhaps even the street. He was shouting for someone, but Megan couldn’t make out a name over the cries of the reanimated. Several more shots rang out and the screaming began again. It was a deep wailing at first-definitely a man, but toward the end it grew shrill and high pitched.
Megan tried to pretend she couldn’t hear what happened next but there was little doubt the man was being torn limb from limb. It sounded so close that she imagined the man making it to her front yard before her rotting neighbors pulled him down, swarming over his warm body. As his clothes were ripped away, the moans turned to hisses and squeals of delight as the creatures tore into their prize. Long after she believed the victim had mercifully ceased feeling any pain, one last scream rose above the sounds of eating. It was the cry of someone who no longer cared to be saved, but were instead drowning in a pain that overwhelmed all else.
Then the scream cut off. A sound like a wet branch snapping and then a short gurgle marked the end of the man who died on Megan’s lawn.
That was all Megan could take. She felt her knees give out as she collapsed to the bedroom floor. Curling up in a ball, she began to hum. It was what she did as a child to drown out people she didn’t want to listen to. As she curled even tighter and smashed the pillow over her eyes, Megan remembered her favorite rhyme.
Ms. Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black with silver buttons, buttons, buttons…
Megan repeated the rhyme over and over in her head to blot out the feeding noises as she crawled underneath her bed. The chant continued as the monsters that had been riled up by the introduction of new flesh continued their aimless wandering long after their feast was over. Megan didn’t realize she was sucking her thumb until it grew sore a few hours later.
Over the next day and a half the creatures drifted away and Megan faded in and out of a fitful sleep. Each time she woke up she would repeat the rhyme to avoid hearing them crashing around outside, searching for more food.
Megan was finally able to crawl out from underneath the bed, stiff and aching, two days after the attack.
She stared at the window for another day, teased by the idea of sneaking a peak outside. Nothing out there could be as bad as she had imagined, could it? She had to know if the cold creep of insanity tugging at her could be pushed back or if she should just embrace it, wrap it around her body like a warm winter coat and just drift into oblivion. Megan got close enough to touch the wispy material of her thin drapes. The fabric rippled gently in response to her touch, but she could go no further.
For the next few days, as Megan stared at the pattern the wallpaper border made around the room, she thought of Dalton a great deal. He was the only one of the dead who didn’t whisper to her, telling her to let go, to give up this charade of living. But the others would tell her that all she had to do was open the front door and step outside and all the lies would be over.
But Dalton never tried to speak to her like her dead neighbors did. The man who had died on the lawn, as well as the woman he had been with, came to her the most. The pain was fleeting, they said. It was just the body’s way of resisting its passage into the new existence they had all embraced. It was only a pain of transition, of shifting to a better existence.
She tried to ignore them, but as the hours ticked by and daylight faded into night, the strain of the words wore on her as her eyes drifted from the wallpaper to the gun on her nightstand.
Not yet. I made a promise to you Dalton. Not yet …
***
Dalton ran into the room and pulled her off the bed. “Come on hun, we have to leave!”
Megan was thrilled to see him again and knew he had come back to whisk her away.
“I have something to show you.”
Dalton pulled her out of the bedroom and down the steps. Megan nearly tripped her as she tried to keep up with her excited spouse. She managed to avoid a fall as they landed in the foyer.
Dalton smiled as he pulled his wife toward the front door. Megan resisted, but he smiled and gently shook his head. “I have something to show you.”
Megan looked at the door and saw that the makeshift boards Dalton had nailed over it were gone. Dalton put his hand on the knob and before Megan could protest, he pulled the door open.
Megan tried to scream and clawed at the hand wrapped around her wrist. She shook her head, pleading with Dalton.
Glancing outside, she saw the dark shapes of the dead. She stopped struggling and noticed that none of the stiff forms were moving forward, coming toward them.
Megan had never seen one of the walking corpses with her own eyes before. She had seen them on television, but had been hidden away in the house since the beginning, with curtains drawn and eyes firmly shut to what was going on outside.
The dead people on Megan’s lawn were not reacting like the crazed monsters she had been expecting. Instead, they stood silently, swaying back and forth, staring at her and Dalton in the doorway of their house, as if waiting for them to do something.
As they looked upon her, their eyes did not hide the emptiness behind them. There was no life there, no comprehension.
“I have something to show you,” Dalton repeated and put his hand on Megan’s shoulder as he pulled her out onto the porch. Megan looked in her husband’s eyes and her resistance faded.
The bright sun hit Megan’s face, nearly blinding her. Even with her limited vision, she could see the huge crowd that had gathered for them. As the two living people moved forward, the sea of rotting flesh stepped back to allow them to pass.
Megan smiled as she realized they were being allowed to leave! With that jubilant revelation she noticed something about the stiffened corpses all around her.
These diseased creatures were not moaning.
They were as silent as she was. Although they stared at Megan there was no hunger in their eyes. They didn’t reach out to touch or pull at her; they seemed to have no desire to violate her at all.
After a few minutes of trudging on blood soaked grass, Dalton spoke again. “Almost there,” he beamed at her as he looked back and grinned, his teeth dazzling in the sunlight.
Megan couldn’t remember how long they walked before the crowd ahead parted, revealing an opening. Not a large one, just a small circle of space free of the dead. Megan could see something on the ground, a bundle of some sort. But since Dalton was in front of her, leading the way, she couldn’t make out what it was.
Dalton turned away from Megan and dropped her hand. She stopped, watching as the man she loved knelt down and wrapped his arms around the bundle. He made quiet noises she could barely hear as he rose up.
When Dalton turned around Megan knew what he was holding. Dalton was smiling down upon the blanket wrapped shape in his arms, slowly bouncing it and cooing. It was their baby. Their little girl!
Megan tried to reach out to take the baby and cradle it in her arms, but they felt like there were lead weights at her side. She had always known they would have a girl-it had been her dream all along. She could feel tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched Dalton hold their infant in his arms.
Dalton looked over at Megan and smiled. “She wants her mommy. She’s hungry.”
At his words, Megan’s felt lighter and she was able to move forward. It was some cruel twist of fate that had kept the child from her for this long, but Megan knew, deep in her heart, that she would never be separated from her again.
As Megan moved closer, Dalton smiled encouragement at her. She saw a curl of black hair peeping out of the snug blanket and her heart quaked in anticipation.
Megan reached out for her child as she stepped up to her husband. She had forgotten the dark figures surrounding them, though the dead appeared to be leaning in to get a closer look at the child. Dalton gently handed the child over to his wife as she held out her arms.
A scream burst forth from Megan’s lips. She wanted to drop the bundle but Dalton’s arms were wrapped tightly around her and the baby. Megan’s scream continued, piercing the silence of the netherworld like a knife.
Her child, her baby girl, was one of them. Its grayish skin was stretched tight over its skull, its eyes pus filled even though the murky pupils fixated on its mother. Its mouth was filled with jagged little teeth that gnashed and clicked together with menace. As Megan’s screaming stopped, she heard an unearthly moan of the dead escape the baby’s lips.
“She needs to feed,” Dalton hissed and Megan looked at his face. He was one of them, too. Half of the skin on his face had rotted off and the stench was overpowering as he leaned in. “She needs to feed … and so do we.” A thick green line of drool trailed from the corner of his mouth where multiple jagged and broken teeth sat. The moans rose as Dalton lifted the baby up to Megan’s breast.
Megan was torn from her nightmare, clutching at her belly, sweat-drenched as she attempted to hold in the screams. The pain she felt in her gut was real-as real as anything else in this dark, dank place she inhabited. The once almost impossibly strong desire to bring new life into the world had shriveled and died as dreams such this one haunted Megan’s sleep, tormenting her endlessly.
As she sat trying to regain her composure, it dawned on Megan that it wasn’t some simple mercy that had woke her up before her dream could reach its evil conclusion, as it had done so many times before. Something else had disturbed her sleep.
Megan didn’t have to wait long to discover that it wasn’t the sound of moaning or some window shattering nearby that had jarred her sleep. It was an explosion.
When the next one hit, it sounded like a bomb had been dropped on the neighborhood. The bedroom walls rattled as several more bursts occurred. Megan tensed, unsure of where they were coming from and if they were getting closer to her house.
She gripped the covers close, knowing they would provide no protection, but having no idea what else to do as she stared at the windows. A rumble of another blast caused them to vibrate.
Megan remained stationary for several minutes, even after the thunderous explosions ceased. She listened, waiting for something, anything else to happen, but there was nothing. Not even the ever-present moaning of the dead.
What the hell just happened?
It was the only thought that raced through Megan’s mind as she slid off the bed and searched for her shoes. Her actions were automatic. She hadn’t slipped on her sneakers in weeks, but it seemed like the thing to do as she pondered the explosions and the meaning behind them.
It had to be the military. They had been working all this time to clear the city of infected and they’d finally reached the suburbs. It was the only explanation that made any sense.
Limping as her sluggish limbs woke up, Megan made it to her closet. She needed to get dressed. For the first time in the five weeks, the close caress of the nightgown she’d been wearing repulsed her. It stuck to her skin and smelled foul, almost ripe. And as she stripped it away, it was as if layers of fear and intimidation disappeared with it.
Two minutes later Megan was moving down the steps, weak but excited. She had snatched the revolver off the nightstand and held in front of her like some sort of shield as she stared at the front door.
Memories of her nightmare returned. Megan closed her eyes as a vision of the baby she had held in her arms jumped into her head unbidden. She sucked in a sharp breath and opened her eyes again, determined to push the nightmare aside so she could focus on the aftermath of the explosions she’d heard.
After staring at the front door for a couple of minutes, her heart racing, Megan shook her head to clear it of all the confused thoughts that had been swarming through her mind since she had been so abruptly awoken.
“Shit happens,” Megan mumbled as she stepped closer to the door. Her voice sounded odd. Scratched, deflated. It was not the voice she had lived with her entire life, but instead sounded weak, insecure … frightened.
Steeling herself, Megan took a deep breath before leaning toward the window next to the front door, putting her hands on the blinds. There were a few more moments of seconding guessing before she was able to get close enough to pull a slat down.
Megan had to line her eyes up with the area between the boards nailed in place. She blinked a few times and tried to adjust to the light of the mid-day sun after having spent weeks in shadow. When she was able to focus on her front yard and what lay beyond, it took her mind several more seconds to accept what she was seeing was real.
The neutral toned brick and vinyl siding houses and manicured lawns were gone. They had been replaced with a palate of blackened and burnt wooden and stone skeletons. Several houses were smoking and ruined, while others still stood. All the lawns were overgrown and bushes were beginning to run wild. Fires had destroyed some structures while leaving others intact. Cars out on the street were covered with layers of dust, ash, and garish splashes of blood.
The burnt houses with timbers jutting into the sky mirrored the corpses littering the street. While it was mostly bones and splashes of blood, a few unidentifiable chunks of human residue were scattered about. Several younger saplings that had been planted in the grassy patch between the sidewalk and the street had been bent and broken, and Megan blinked as she spotted what looked like an arm dangling from one of the snapped limbs.
She took little comfort from the fact that she saw only a scattering of bodies. There were bones strewn about her yard and what appeared to be a torso stripped free of its flesh sitting on the Miller’s porch across the street.
Megan stifled a whimper as she saw the remains. A wide trail of blood led away from the torso to the front door of the Miller’s house, which had been ripped from its hinges. Several of the other houses Megan could see from her vantage point looked broken into as well.
Rubbing her eyes, Megan took a short break from looking outside while she tried to keep her breathing even and controlled. She’d seen nothing lurking in the shadows outside and the silence from earlier remained intact. There had been no noise since the explosions. No tanks rolling in, no gunfire, and no more moans. She took a small amount of solace from the possibility that the dead had migrated away from the neighborhood, but was disappointed that the cavalry had not appeared.
Megan was still rubbing her eyes when she heard another noise off in the distance. It startled her even though it was no where near as loud or abrupt as the explosions had been.
Letting go of the blinds, Megan stepped back and felt her legs give way as she collapsed onto the floor. Raising the revolver with a quivering hand, she pressed it against her temple.
It was those things. She could hear them moaning. They were coming back.
“Where’s my goddamn rescue?” Megan whimpered as she tried to fight back the tears.
Shaking her head, she refused to believe that the explosions had been some sort of freak occurrence. No! It had to be something else-something more than just another fractured, hopeless misery in a world already filled with them.
Megan continued sitting next to the door, hearing the moans getting closer while her arms rested on her knees and her head slumped over between them. She held the gun up and began tapping the butt gently against the back of her skull. This went on for another minute or so until she heard a new sound and raised her head to stare up at the window.
At first Megan couldn’t place what it was. She’d been subjected to the muffled wailing of flesh eating predators for far too long and her ears needed time to adjust to the subtleties of this new noise. When they did, Megan jumped up so quickly she almost fell on her side as a grin split her dry, cracked lips. She rushed to the window and clawed at the blinds. Flattening her face to the board again, Megan scanned her street and the one that crossed it nearby.
Megan’s street was at the bottom of a hill, the road feeding into her section of the subdivision on a downward slant. With the thin slit between the two boards showing only a little of the outside world, Megan couldn’t see that far, but as she waited, her patience was rewarded a few seconds later.
“Oh my God…”
It was a van! It was racing down the hill toward her street. Megan could hardly register what her eyes were trying to tell her brain. It’s a goddamned minivan! She nearly fell on her butt as her legs threatened to give out on her again. The dark blue van sped toward Nelson Street, where Megan lived, getting closer by the second.
Giggling hysterically, Megan wondered why the army was using minivans instead of Jeeps or Humvees. The vehicle continued to get closer, but appeared to be slowing down. A twisted part of Megan’s mind whispered to her that it was illegal for someone to be driving that fast anyway. The giggling ramped up and she wondered if she should call the police on the driver. Megan’s felt dizzy from all the laughter, but she was determined to get the attention of the person driving the van. Otherwise they would drive past her house, hit the dead end at the end of Nelson, turn around and speed out of the neighborhood without a single backward glance.
The laughter cut off as Megan realized she had a choice to make. It was either time to leave this house which was not only Dalton’s tomb, but fast becoming hers as well, or to give up and end it all.
That was when Megan realized there was still a spark of life left inside of her. This was her one chance for redemption; her one chance for freedom. The hell residing outside the house was beginning to look no worse than the hell that had been living inside of her mind for the past few weeks. Megan heard herself whimper as she reached for the first board that covered the front door.
Tears replaced the anxious laughter as she tugged at the lumber hammered into the top of the solid oak door. As she did, Megan wiped at the small beads of moisture coming from her forehead and her eyes.
The boards didn’t budge with her feeble efforts. Megan was already out of breath after a few tugs and her arms felt like dead weights. Need to get to the gym more often. She rubbed her forearm and glanced over at the window. Dalton had spaced the boards across it so they could still look outside. That would give her a place to slip her fingers as she gripped the boards when she pulled at them. Setting the gun down on a small table next to the front door, she moved to the window.
Megan could feel the itch of panic as she heard the minivan’s engine continued to creep closer to her house. It was taking way too long to get here. Hadn’t the driver been flying down the road? Now what were they doing? They’d been slowing down, but how slow could he possibly be going now? The speed limit is 25 MPH and every good citizen should observe that limit, even during the apocalypse. A new wave of giggles threatened to return with that crazed thought, but Megan was able to force them down as she struggled with the boards over the window.
She moved to the other window on the opposite side of the door and wrapped her arms around one of the boards over it. The fact that the driver was slowing down was some sort of cosmic nudge, urging her to try harder so she could let them know she was here. Megan yanked at the board and it bent slightly toward her but had no further give in it. She shook it, but it remained securely affixed to the window frame.
Megan screamed in rage. “Let. Me. Out!” Each word was punctuated by a futile jerk at the board. She kicked angrily at the wall as she pounded on the wood. Exhausted, she almost slumped to the floor again, knowing she wouldn’t make it in time. The van would pass by and never even know she was inside, desperate to be free.
Megan’s head snapped up as it dawned on her. The garage! She stumbled as she ran through the kitchen. She almost slipped on the linoleum but made it the garage door and pawed at the knob. She was nearly hyperventilating and couldn’t hear if the van was still outside. She slid between Dalton’s Jeep and her little econobox in a rush to get to the big aluminum garage door. With no electricity, the door would just pull up.
Megan snatched at the handle on the door and nearly wrenched her arm out of its socket as she yanked on it. It didn’t budge. A wave of pain shot through her arm as she recoiled from the handle like it was a venomous snake. The door was jammed.
Megan stared at the garage door, exasperated. The house didn’t want to let her go. Slowly her eyes grew wide and she cursed her stupidity. Glancing up past the handle, she saw a rectangular shaped protrusion half way up the door. It was connected to two metal rods that spanned the door horizontally. Of course! Dalton had manually locked the garage door on his return from the failed supply run.
Megan wrapped her hands around the cold, dry metal and twisted it to the left and it did not budge. Turning it the other way met with success as she heard the satisfying sound of the lock opening. She leaned down and tugged on the handle, receiving the result she was hoping for as the door began to rise. She let it go up about halfway and glanced outside, free of barriers between her and the rest of the world for the first time in ages.
Megan had been prepared to run screaming to flag down the driver, but as she looked out on the scene past her lawn, she realized that perhaps her grand vision of escape had been a mistake.
Things could be worse.
That was what Dalton had said to Megan when this whole mess started. He had been trying to raise her spirits and kept on trying to until the end. He wanted her to survive, wanted her to keep on fighting and find a way out of the hell they were in. Now, despite her efforts to entomb herself in the bedroom they had slept in, made love in, and lived in, she had finally woken up. She was somehow still willing to fight after all this time; not just for herself, but for her husband’s sake … because once she was gone, who would be left to remember him?
So when she saw the scraggly looking man standing on top of the blue minivan, looking away from her as he stared at the top of the hill, she realized that despite how terrible he looked and how dire her circumstances were, things could be worse.
Swallowing hard, Megan stepped out into the sunlight.
“Hello,” was all she could think to say.
September 24, 2010 | Categories: Dark Stories | Tags: comes the dark, dark stories, horror, short stories, writing, zombies | Leave a comment
Quicker than expected, the May December first person zombie apocalypse anthology, Eye Witness: Zombie has been released and is available on Amazon.
I am very proud of my story that appears in this anthology, as it ties into the world I created with Comes The Dark and its two sequels. My story is entitled “A Soldier’s Lament” and is my first foray into first person storytelling. I am used to doing third person traditional, but it was good taking a different perspective for this one and I am pleased with how the story ended up.
So check it out!
Here is the description on the back of the book (and the cover is listed one post below this one, so you can take a look at it there):
THE DEAD WALK! Slip into the skin of common men and women and experience the horror through their eyes. Follow the Zombie Apocalypse from its initial stages to the brink of the abyss, and over…into the pits of an unthinkable Hell on Earth. Tune into your local stations for the latest updates or stay here and follow the story as it unfolds on…Eye Witness: Zombie.
http://www.amazon.com/Eye-Witness-Zombie-T-Brown/dp/0984537228/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1285269978&sr=1-1
September 23, 2010 | Categories: Other folk's stuff..., The Shorts | Tags: horror, May December Publishers, short stories, writer, zombies | 2 Comments
I am quite excited about this anthology from May December Publications. It is being released soon and contains a story of mine that is derived from the same world as Comes The Dark. I won’t reveal the connection, but suffice it to say, there are a couple of characters that appear in my trilogy that also appear in my story, “A Soldier’s Lament.”
This one should be out in the next month or so, and my copy is on its way from the publisher. I can’t wait to get my hands on it!
September 21, 2010 | Categories: Other folk's stuff..., The Shorts | Tags: cover art, horror, May December Publishers, short stories, zombies | 3 Comments
This past weekend, I got to go to my very first horror convention, Horror Realm, which is held in Pittsburgh. This is a zombie-centric horror conference and gave me and the rest of the authors from The Library of the Living Dead and Permuted Press the chance to meet with horror fans of all stripes, discuss zombies, and have a blast.
Things got going on Thursday night, when those of us who had the chance to come in a bit early were able to head to Rich Dalzotto’s house and mix and mingle with one another. Rich is one of the folks who runs Horror Realm. The party gave me the opportunity to meet and interact with quite a few of the folks I haven’t met face to face before but have corresponded with and spoke to on Skype. Too many to mention here, and I fear that if I start naming names, I will end up skipping someone. So suffice it to say, the party was a lot of fun and a great experience.
Putting up my books and being at the actual show was quite an experience. I have gone to conferences for work before, but never something like this. There were a ton of vendors and quite a few horror celebrities, with reunions for Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead happening at the convention. Even with these celebrities walking around, I gained the most enjoyment in having the chance to get to know a lot of other authors over the three days of the show. Doc, my publisher, was terrific, and so was Jacob Kier, who is the publisher over at Permuted Press. They both took great care of everyone and despite the fact that sales weren’t huge, the show was a rousing success.
One of the highlights for me was getting made up as a zombie to film a commercial for The Library of the Living Dead. All us zombies got to tear into Doc, though it wasn’t blood and guts that came out, but something else entirely. I won’t ruin the surprise, but lets just say we all had a blast filming the commercial.
I wanted post a few pictures I took at Horror Realm here as well, just to provide a flavor of the event and the people I had the pleasure of meeting up with. I am already anxious to go to next year’s event, because if it is half as much fun as this Horror Realm was, it will be well worth the trip!
September 21, 2010 | Categories: Random Thoughts | Tags: Book signing, convention, horror, Horror Realm, Library of Horror, Library of the Living Dead, Permuted Press, writer, zombies | Leave a comment
As promised, I am providing additional story lines to complement the main story in Comes The Dark and its two sequels. The stories I will be posting here on my blog were originally written with the intention of being included in the book. But for numerous reasons, they did not make the final cut. My hope is that by posting them on my blog it will give those of you who have read my book a chance to get to know some of the characters in the story beside Jeff a little better.
There will be a few of these stories for Comes The Dark, and a few more that I will post after the second book is released in the new year for characters that are introduced in that novel.
For now, here is the first part of my introduction to Megan. This story, along with Part 2, relates what she was doing before her meeting with Jeff early on in Comes The Dark.
I hope you enjoy it.
Megan, Part 1
Megan rolled over and stared at the wall. The bedroom, with its closed drapes and lack of light was the only place that gave her any comfort or peace anymore, if there was such a thing. At least sleep still came with relative ease. When she drifted off, it was the only time she could sever the tenuous link to reality she hated so much.
Certainly, there were nightmares, but they were tame compared to her waking reality. All Megan did was drift along like some raft on a meandering river, floating through one horrific experience to the next, never sure if she was awake or asleep as she did.
Despite whatever demons her mind dredged up when her eyes were closed, Megan still craved the sweet release of sleep. Nightmares felt real, but so did the occasional pleasant dream. Those rare moments when she was able to get lost in a dream were the only times she could forget.
That little bit of joy was her drug, so when she woke from them, Megan would bury herself in blankets and pillows and grasp at those fleeting images of happiness. But it never worked; once they were gone, they were gone for good.
No matter how bad or good her dreams became, Megan never made a sound in her sleep, or when she woke up. There was just too much of a chance that her voice would carry beyond the walls of her house. That could not be tolerated.
Megan kept staring at her bedroom wall. She’d been working on memorizing the pattern of the wallpaper border over the past few days. It was a floral print Dalton hated and it consisted of an assortment of red hued flowers repeating on the six inch border all the way around the room. Memorizing the pattern wasn’t much of a challenge, since there were only about ten different flowers on the paper, but doing so passed the time until she was able to drift off to sleep.
The rich color of the flowers matched the comforter and drapes, as well as the pillow cases and bed ruffle. Dalton faked nausea the first time he saw the entire set, but as a husband, he had learned how to pick his battles and bowed to his wife’s evil glare rather quickly when it came to such minor things.
Megan was proud of the decorative choices she’d made in the bedroom. It was the first room they’d finished in the house. The rest of the place was a work in progress, and had been since they’d moved in a little over a year ago.
This was their second place together, and purchasing the house had been the start of their “serious” stage. They bought a house that cost too much, picked out furnishings that maxed out their credit cards, and made plans to have a baby.
Megan and Dalton had been together for five years, married for three, and Megan had been feeling the itch to start a family for at least a year. This house out in the suburbs was going to be the place. The place where they really got going as a couple … and having the bedroom finished and tastefully decorated was the first step in that process.
Now the bedroom was going to be her mausoleum.
It wasn’t as if the food had run out. Megan had never been a big eater and she lost what little appetite she had when the world fell apart.
She could feel her muscles being devoured by her desperate body as she ate less and less. It was fighting her, resisting her desire to fade away. For some reason, Megan’s body wasn’t ready to give up on her just yet.
Before everything started Megan had barely topped “a buck five” as Dalton would say. She was sure if she checked her current weight, it would be a miracle if it was above ninety pounds.
“A strong wind’s going to blow you away if you’re not careful, honey.”
Megan grinned at the memory of her husband’s words. If she lost any more weight she might test that theory. Floating away might not be a bad idea.
Megan spent the rare occasion when she wasn’t lying in bed trying to read old magazines and books, but having never been a big reader, that didn’t last long. So instead, she dug up an old cookbook and flipped through it for hours on end, staring at pictures of recipes that would never be made again.
Ghosts of her old life were in everything that surrounded her. Not just in the cookbook, but in all the little things in the rooms she floated through like some sort of ghost; things they had bought together, made together. There had been so much to live for, but in the blink of an eye that was all gone.
Megan also spent a lot of time thinking about her sister in Pittsburgh. Sandy had three little boys Megan adored. They were all under six; each cuter than the next. “Aunty Mega” probably would never get to see any of them again. Sandy told her she and Phil were taking the boys down to the cabin in West Virginia just as this mess began and pleaded for Megan and Dalton to join them.
Unfortunately, things had turned bad so quickly that the National Guard clamped down on travel and Dalton nixed the idea of trying to make the six hour trip in their Jeep.
With all the reports of log-jammed highways and roadside attacks Dalton doubted they could even make it out of town, let alone to the mountains of West Virginia. Nope, they would stay in the house, stock up on necessities, and pray this wasn’t the end of times, like so many of those damn televangelists were shouting about over the airwaves.
But those bastards had been right.
Early on, Dalton planned on going out one last time to collect supplies-food, water, batteries … anything he could get his hands on. Megan remembered CNN blaring in the background that day, saying that it was Day Six of the crisis.
Dalton was going to take the Grand Cherokee, all their cash, and the revolver. His plan was to head to the closest grocery store and pick up whatever would fit in the SUV and return home as fast as he could.
Megan recalled the conversation before he left, when she was in a white hot panic and pleading with her husband to let her come with him or better yet, for him to not leave at all.
Dalton had gripped her shoulders as he tried to reassure her. “Honey, it’ll be alright. You can’t come with me. You have to stay and—”
“But I don’t even want you to go! Don’t you get it? It’s not safe out there Dalton. God only knows if the virus is here already. Please! If you have to go, let me go with you.”
Megan had gone on like that for over a minute as Dalton shushed her while shaking his head. He never broke eye contact with her the whole time.
Dalton’s level of calm began to overpower Megan’s determination and her hysterics lessened. In a normal situation, if her husband had shushed her she would have punched him in the chest. Not that her slight frame could pack much of a wallop, but he would definitely have known she wasn’t going to tolerate such a condescending attitude. But this time it was having the effect he’d hoped for.
“You know as well I do,” Dalton said as she started to wind down, “there isn’t much you can do for me out there.”
The volume of Dalton’s voice increased as Megan grew agitated again. He glared at his wife. “I’m not taking a chance on something happening to you. And let’s not play bullshit games about who is capable of handling themselves better out there if things get crazy.”
Dalton LeValley stood a smidge over six feet tall and weighed in at a fit one hundred and ninety pounds. He was ex-military, though he’d not seen combat in his two years of active duty. Still, he’d been trained to deal with dangerous situations while Megan had taken a two week self-defense course offered down at the Y. She knew Dalton could deal with trouble and move faster without her tagging along, but the idea of being separated from him, even for an hour, terrified her.
Megan shuddered as she took in a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out all the logic her husband had thrust upon her. The world had gone mad and she didn’t care that what Dalton said made sense. She also didn’t care if she was being selfish. He didn’t have to go out at all. They had enough food and water for a couple of days, and this whole thing would blow over by then, wouldn’t it?
All that day there had been pictures on the TV showing riots. Sure, they were going on in places like New York and L.A., just like you would expect, but they were happening in smaller cities and just about everywhere else.
One story on the television had stuck with Megan. A convenience store clerk in Iowa had been hung from a light pole in front of his store because he tried to stop a crowd of looters from ransacking his place of business. Megan remembered the images of shattered plate glass windows, shelves stripped bare and the store looking like a tornado had hit it. But what resonated in her mind were the images of the poor man after he’d been lynched. He’d not just been hung; he’d been stoned as well. His face and body were a mass of bloody bruises and welts. The censors had stopped bothering to cover up such brutality by then, so she got to see it in all its glory.
Megan found it hard to believe that it would ever get that bad in their anonymous little suburb. Certainly, their subdivision was in an uproar, with neighbors panicking and wondering what to do, but the madness of the outside world hadn’t touched down in Milfield yet. Lots of people were leaving the area and a few teens were trying their hand at vandalism, but the overall perception was that this viral crisis was happening elsewhere and would never reach the local area.
It wasn’t until a camouflaged Humvee drove down their street with a loudspeaker announcing where the nearest Red Cross and National Guard shelters were set up that Megan realized the worldwide panic being wailed about on television had come to their little corner of the world.
The National Guard wasn’t requiring anyone to leave their homes. Dalton told Megan the military didn’t have the resources to waste on homeowners unwilling to evacuate. They were urging everyone to do so, but were too busy cordoning off areas of the city, battling rioters, and trying to maintain the peace to bother with house to house searches.
Some of the families in the neighborhood took the Guardsmen up on their offer, piling into their cars and heading to the shelters. Others like Dalton and Megan decided to hunker down and wait it out.
Dalton had dismissed the idea of heading to a shelter rather quickly. “Why should we spend the next month crammed into some shitty tin can like sardines eating lousy food when we can be comfortable here in our own house?”
Megan didn’t argue at the time. But now Dalton was heading out into that mess to do a little grocery shopping, where the possibility of facing looters wasn’t the worst thing he might have to deal with.
Dalton shook Megan. It wasn’t violent, but she snapped out of her reverie just the same as if he had slapped her.
“Megan! Please, let me go. We both know I have to do this.” He wasn’t pleading with her. It was the last gasp of rational arguing he would do before he got angry. It was easy to read him after five years together, although things had never been even remotely this intense before. Megan knew she didn’t want him angry. Because if something happened and she never saw him again …
Things didn’t seem normal outside their house but it wasn’t as bad as the horror stories the news had cooked up. If Dalton went out there, then everything would be real. Megan was beginning to understand that for her husband it already was already real, and had been from the moment he heard the first hints of trouble in other places on the news. Dalton had accepted this new reality immediately and had boarded up the house and rationed their food and water. He’d even packed the Jeep in case they needed to leave in a hurry.
As Dalton pleaded with Megan to let him leave, it dawned on her that the only reason he hadn’t proposed this trip a couple of days earlier was because he knew how she would react. He had waited as long as he could before broaching the subject, until he had no other choice but to make this trip if they were going to survive inside their barricaded house.
So Megan knew it had probably surprised Dalton when she pulled him close, hugging him, and nodded her approval, rather than choosing to continue arguing. The tension between them remained for a moment, but when Dalton’s stiff shoulders relaxed Megan knew things were okay between them.
Wrapping her hand around the back of Dalton’s neck, she pulled him close to whisper in his ear.
“Please Dal, be careful. God, just be safe … I can’t imagine what I would do—”
Megan’s words were cut off as her husband swept her into a big bear hug. Dalton kissed her on the forehead and then pushed her back so they could look each other in the eyes. She had to bend her neck back quite a bit, as she always did, to accommodate their difference in height.
“You know I’ll be as careful as possible. No screwing around, just getting what we need and then I’ll head straight home.”
He dropped his arms to his sides, still a bit tense, fearful that Megan was some sort of firecracker whose wick had burned all the way down, but hadn’t exploded. Megan gave Dalton one of her sleepy little smiles she reserved for those times when she had essentially lost an argument. Not that she would admit defeat, but it served to let her husband know that this firecracker was a dud. Megan’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it was good enough for Dalton. He pulled her close again and kissed her firmly on the lips before heading to the garage.
“Be back soon,” was all he said before getting into the Jeep and driving away.
Dalton did make it back. He had been through hell and the Jeep had suffered some serious dents but it returned, just like Dalton, in one piece. There was a small gash on his forehead, but no other visible wounds when he stepped out of the SUV.
He described people dying on the streets-some sick, but others looking more insane than anything as they roamed the area.
“People were trying to take the truck, grabbing at the doors. A bunch threw rocks at the police and the National Guard … hell, they were attacking them! Everyone out there is insane, I swear to God. But …” He paused, his face turning pale at the memory as he told Megan his story. “But it was those sick people, the ones who were infected. They were attacking everyone, ripping and biting them. Christ, there was so much blood. It was a fucking nightmare.”
Dalton hadn’t made it to a store. Two miles down the road past their neighborhood was as far as he got and that was more than enough. He tried to turn around but people were running everywhere, blocking his path. After a few minutes of negotiating traffic to a place where he could turn the jeep around, a bunch of teenagers began throwing rocks and surrounded the vehicle.
When Megan asked for more details, Dalton shook his head, only saying that he had gotten away and was fine. He wouldn’t let Megan touch him as he rattled off his story, spying through the slats he’d nailed over the front door and windows. It was as if he was worried someone had followed him home. When she tried to hug him, he darted away. He was too strung out to stand still for even a moment.
It was when he went to the sink a few minutes later and rolled up his shirt sleeve that Megan saw the bite mark. The wound on his arm looked superficial, but Dalton’s hooded sweatshirt was torn in a couple of places. There were blood spatters on his clothes and Megan wondered if there were any other wounds he was hiding from her.
Dalton pulled off his sweatshirt and tossed it into the trash can. Still agitated after cleaning up at the kitchen sink, he locked himself in the bathroom. Megan tried to leave him alone for a while, certain her husband just needed time alone to calm down. But when he didn’t come out for ten minutes, she couldn’t wait any longer and banged on the door, demanding Dalton talk to her.
When he came out, Dalton still didn’t want to be touched. The thrill of seeing him again had been replaced by a dread that grew inside Megan. Dalton was alive, but what he’d seen out there had rattled him to the core. He was supposed to be the cool and rational one-the one who remained calm no matter what. Instead, he looked like some scared kid who’d been frightened nearly to death.
The next few hours were almost as bad for Megan as it had been waiting on Dalton to return from his trip outside. She prided herself on knowing her husband fairly well, but even a complete stranger could tell that something was terribly wrong with Dalton LeValley. After any stressful event Dalton was always the first to make light of it, smile and joke, washing away the stress and forcing himself to forget. That was not the Dalton Megan was seeing here. It was then that she realized he was dealing with something more traumatic than a violent run in with some teenagers.
Megan had seen the broadcasts and watched the scientists debate over what was causing the virus to be transmitted so easily from victim to victim. There were countless theories, but the one that stood out from all the others was that it was transmitted through the blood-through bites and scratches.
She didn’t want to accept it, but there it was. Megan wept as she tried to deny the truth of the matter. Dalton had been bitten and he was infected.
Dalton was lying on their bed, and perhaps it was her crying that allowed him to see past his own pain for the first time since his return. He held out a shaky hand to his wife and Megan fought against the urge to recoil as she looked at the wound on his arm, which he wouldn’t let her see before. The bite mark had turned black, with red, puffy skin surrounding it. The infection was definitely in his blood, and she could see that the skin on Dalton’s entire arm looked discolored and in bad shape.
Megan wanted so desperately to touch Dalton, but what if the infection didn’t just spread through the blood, but from touch as well? As she stood above him, near the edge of the bed, her heart racing, Megan looked into the pleading eyes of her husband and realized she didn’t care.
She took Dalton’s hand in hers and climbed in next to him, feeling the heat radiating off of his body. He felt like a blast furnace as she touched his forehead. It was as if his brain was boiling beneath his skull. Megan immediately sprung up from the bed, mumbling something about getting him a cold washcloth, and ran to the bathroom.
As Megan doused the cloth in cold water her hands were shaking. As she glanced at the mirror a ghost stared back at her. There was no blood in her normally olive toned skin.
“Get a grip, Megan. Keep it together. You have to for Dalton’s sake.” The whispered words were drowned out by the running water, but had the desired effect. Megan was able to resist the urge to break down crying again. Instead, she turned off the water and rubbed away the tears that had already fallen.
Returning to the bedroom, Megan could feel the washcloth cold and wet in her hands. She leaned over the stationary form of her husband and gently put the cloth on his forehead, wondering if even though it was wet, it might burst into flames from the overpowering heat coming off of Dalton. When he grabbed her wrist Megan jumped, startled. She yelped before she could cover her mouth with her free hand as she stared into his eyes. The hazel color she had always loved was beginning to cloud over with a milky film.
“Promise me … promise me you won’t let me change …”
It was only a whisper. Megan stared into his dull and weeping eyes, fighting to break free of their hypnotic effect. She wanted to shake her head and turn away, to avoid seeing the ravages of the virus as it changed Dalton, twisting and warping him into some kind of monster. Although it was still her beloved husband lying before her, he was already changing as his body was consumed with poison.
Megan touched his face gently. “Everything is going to be okay, baby,” she said in a surprisingly steady voice. She forced herself to look deeper into Dalton’s eyes. His fetid breath smelled of rot and it was all she could do to not gag. Instead, Megan smiled weakly at him. She wanted to run to the toilet and throw up, but stood her ground. This was her husband, no matter what was happening and she had to make sure he knew she was there for him, would stay by his side no matter what.
Dalton attempted to smile. Although he was wheezing and showing all the signs of a terminally ill patient, he seemed to be winning the battle with his fear.
He retained his grip on Megan’s wrist as he spoke again. “I’m going to head down to the basement. Please help me get down there. We have some giant sized trash bags I can lay on. If you wrap a towel around the revolver it will muffle the blast and not drawn any attention to the house.”
Megan only heard the first sentence, and then the blood pounding in her ears was just too loud. She’d felt faint before, but nothing like this.
A couple of minutes later … or maybe it was much later, Dalton was still holding her tight and all she could remember was screaming “No! No! No!” over and over again while she battered his shoulders with her small fists. Dalton was weak, but still had enough strength to get control of Megan and hold her until she stopped. He waited patiently for her to regain some sense of comprehension before he spoke again.
“God I know this is hard honey. There is nothing easy about it. I love you. More than you’ll ever know. But I CAN’T change what’s happening to me. Don’t you see? Either I have to do this myself or you have to …” at that Dalton broke down crying, taking his arms away from Megan as his broad shoulders shook and heaved.
The world was ending right that second. Megan could feel it. There was nothing left. She would pull the trigger and murder her husband, then stick the barrel in her mouth to put the final touch on this nightmare. She sure as hell couldn’t stay here without him. That wasn’t going to happen.
At that moment Megan was angry. Angry at herself for letting Dalton leave the house and angry for not letting him go a few days earlier when it might have been safe outside. She was angry with Dalton for coming back infected. She was angry at God, who seemed to be turning his back on them. The world was coming to an end and God didn’t give a shit.
Dalton’s crying slowed as Megan’s rage grew. He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but a coughing jag took him and lasted several minutes. Megan sprung up and ran to get him a towel as Dalton spat up blood, bile, and whatever else his body was liquefying as the virus tore through his system. He gestured for her to stay back, but to toss him the towel.
As the coughing died down Dalton was able to speak again. “You have to live Megan. No matter how bad you feel, you need to make it through this.”
The look in Dalton’s eyes told Megan that her husband knew what she’d been thinking about. More tears flowed from her eyes as Megan shook her head violently. None of this should be happening. It wasn’t fair.
“I’ll be dead in a few hours, Megan. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s true. But you won’t be. You’re alive and I want you to stay that way. You can make it through this crap, I know you can! The house is fortified and by yourself there is enough food and water to last a long time.”
Megan could only stare at her husband. The idea of putting a bullet in Dalton’s head was abhorrent, but she knew that he would pull the trigger if she didn’t. That was as much a part of who Dalton was as anything else: once he made up his mind, he followed through to the bitter end. No chance things would be different this time.
Dalton took the towel and wiped away the spittle and sweat from his face, though his lips remained crimson from the blood he’d coughed up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and Megan resisted the urge to rush to his side to help him. If he wanted to go down to the basement to commit suicide, he could do it by himself.
Megan wondered if the man she had loved since their third date would do more than say goodbye as he left their bedroom, or would realize he couldn’t go through with this and instead profess his endless love to her. It was a selfish thought, and she knew it. All she could think about was how this impacted her and her existence. She wanted Dalton to fight this thing, resist it, so she didn’t have to accept that this was truly the end of their lives together.
Megan watched as Dalton got out of bed and moved toward the door. He looked at her but said nothing. He could see the parade of emotions on her face and likely knew how impossible all of this was for his wife. And that was when it hit her.
Even as Dalton was dying, he was thinking of his wife, which was exactly what she was doing. In the last few hours of his life he was more concerned with her well being than his impending demise.
That was when Megan ran to Dalton and slid under his shoulder to help him make it down the stairs without stumbling or falling. She was too short for him lean on her effectively, but the pained smile on Dalton’s face told her how grateful he was.
Dalton’s last few hours were better than Megan could have hoped for. They talked about everything, cried, and even laughed a few times.
Toward the end, Dalton touched Megan’s cheek with shaking hands as he started to fade. She watched as her husband fought to stay coherent, her face stunned and fearful.
Dalton had avoided telling Megan what to do up to that point, instead sharing the memories they both cherished in an attempt to forget his impending doom, if only for a little while. But as he felt his body shutting down and the pain gripping him so tightly he could barely resist crying out in agony, Dalton knew he had to explain what needed to be done.
“Do it before I turn. Don’t wait long; it probably won’t take more than a minute or so after my heart stops.” Dalton’s eyes were closed as he spoke and his skin was a gray, almost translucent as the virus’s victory over his body was nearing completion.
Megan heard the words and despite the fact that Dalton’s eyelids remained closed, she nodded down at him, knowing that if she said anything her voice would crack and she would lose control.
She was still considering pulling the trigger on the .357 Magnum not once, but twice. It would be so easy: they would escape this lunacy together. ‘Til death do us part-that was the vow, wasn’t it? But what if she didn’t want death to part them?
Megan remained lost in her thoughts, only half listening to the rattle of Dalton’s breathing, when she realized that the basement was silent. She glanced down at her husband and tried to hold back the flood of tears as she realized he was gone. His chest had stopped rising and the loud and ragged breathing had cut off. Dalton was laying there, his head resting on a garbage bag she had placed beneath him at his request, his eyes closed for the last time.
So when he sprung back up a moment later Megan felt her heart stop and her bladder let loose. Dalton grabbed his wife’s arms, looking at her with eyes that were dead and unseeing.
Megan didn’t time to ponder the fact that she had waited too long to do what he had asked. All she knew was she was going to die on the basement floor as her husband attacked her. As he pulled her close, she prayed the pain would be fleeting.
Before she could scream out or squirm loose he spoke.
“… make it! … to keep fighting!”
It was all Dalton could spit out. He fell back so fast his skull thumped against the concrete floor, his grip loosening (later there would be welts where he had grabbed her).
This time there was no doubt Dalton was truly dead. He was gone and taken with him everything Megan loved in the world. His last words echoed in her head: he wanted her to keep fighting.
The terror of his death grip on her receded and her heart rate dropped back to normal. Megan’s head was pounding, but she felt more alert than she had been in a long time. The jolt to her system had cleared her head.
Megan stared at the body of her husband as she stood. She lifted the dead weight of the pistol as she hovered over Dalton’s corpse. She was the only mourner he would ever have.
It was up to her to say good bye.
Megan reached for the towel and wrapped it around the muzzle as Dalton had instructed her.
What if I wait? The though slithered through Megan’s head like a serpent, its forked tongue tickling and teasing her. What if I wait to see if he gets back up? I’ll be able to look in his eyes and know for sure.
The thought that Dalton was somehow still in there, inside his ruined body, splashed Megan with irrational hope. She looked at him with love in her heart, wanting to touch him again and wanting him to touch her as well. He’ll look at me and know who I am. He’ll understand what happened and still know he’s my husband.
“No…”
Megan shook her head. She raised the gun and rubbed the towel against her wet forehead.
“I love you so much Dalton. I would give anything to have you back with me. But I …”
The pain in Megan’s stomach made her double over. A huge knot had formed inside her gut. She moaned and almost fell to her knees, but somehow retained her balance.
“You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I will always love you Dalton.”
As she pulled the trigger, Megan swore she saw her husband’s eyes opening. The gun kicked and the towel covering the barrel shredded away as the bullet traveled at a tremendous velocity and blasted a hole the size of a dime in Dalton’s forehead. Megan blinked as she fired and when her eyes opened again she saw that Dalton’s eyes were still closed.
Megan avoided looking at the mess splattered across the garbage bags underneath Dalton’s head. Instead, she grabbed a couple of extra trash bags they’d brought down and laid them on top of him. She unwound the towel from the gun and dropped it beside the body. She was trying to be as clinical and removed from the situation as possible.
It isn’t Dalton, it’s just his corpse. She repeated that over and over in her head in a vain attempt to drown out the part of her mind that wanted to believe if Dalton had come back he would recognized and love her still.
Megan’s thoughts bounced against one another, tormenting her until she raised an arm to her mouth and bit down, hard. The torment inside of her head disappeared with a muffled scream as the coppery taste of blood filled Megan’s mouth. She kept screaming as she stumbled up the steps.
Somehow, Megan managed to hold on to the gun all the way to the bedroom. Later, she would contemplate using it on herself again, but always at the back of her mind was her husband’s dying wish. She held on to the weapon, keeping it close, telling herself it was there, just in case.
September 14, 2010 | Categories: Dark Stories | Tags: comes the dark, dark stories, horror, short stories, writing, zombies | Leave a comment
Another review for Comes The Dark and another one I am pretty pleased with. I am particularly fond of this quote from the review:
“Comes the Dark is non-stop action. It feels as if you are watching a movie that you can’t get up to go to the bathroom because you might miss something. D’Orazio, portrays the undead in the best light, hungry, vicious creatures with a destructive appetite.”
Check out the review here:
http://sonar4landingdockreviews.blogspot.com/2010/09/comes-dark-by-patrick-d-orazio-review.html
September 12, 2010 | Categories: Comes The Dark, My Writing Experiences | Tags: book review, comes the dark, Library of the Living Dead, writer | Leave a comment
Another anthology that I am excited to be a part of, Doomology, from the Library of Science Fiction and Fantasy, has produced it’s cover and I am thrilled by this. My story, “You Only Die Twice” appears in it. Another one to check out once it is on the shelves. More details to come once it is available.
September 8, 2010 | Categories: Other folk's stuff..., The Shorts | Tags: cover art, dark stories, doom, horror, Library of Science Fiction and Fantasy | Leave a comment
Patrick D'Orazio's Blog 