Life After Death (Original Series)

It was a slow night for Jerry, not another living soul outside the wall. He counted the times he'd heard a ghoul, counted the times they stumbled over something like a branch, and the times they'd see him and try to moan to others their find of fresh meat. It never lasted long. The rifle he'd borrowed from that new kid, M, was amazing. He wondered to himself how he'd gotten it, but remembered that in this world there weren't too many rules. It was funny, in a way, how that kid showed up out of nowhere, swept in with all sorts of training tactics, and managed to get Chelsea to leave her post every now and again.

Maybe it was his older age talking, but it seemed a little off how quickly the relationship between those two took off. He decided not to read into the whole thing too much. After all, he liked being on the wall. It let him think, even if he was bored as the day was long. Jerry adjusted his heavy jacket and gloves, re-positioning his beanie on his head so the small bill would help clear away some of the falling snow, it would get stuck in his beard and hair sometimes, and that annoyed him. The thermos was still hot, a wisp of steam curling up from it every now and again, and the liquid chocolate was begging to be sipped at. So the man with the fancy rifle complied with it's wishes.

The grey day soon began to fade to a bruised twilight, the sky was always beautiful during the winter days. Jerry smiled a small, sad, smile as he remembered the world before. He could still hear the noise of the cities, the constant buzz of people, the roars of engines and planes. In some odd way he missed it. Now it was so quiet, even with the generators on full throttle, and the people of Hadley's Hope at their most active, it seemed like whispers compared to the world before. He stopped thinking there, not wanting to follow the natural progression of the timeline, from his busy world to the day of the Great Panic. He didn't want to remember that day, at all.

It was easy to divert his attention to the nest of robins not too far outside the wall, the small birds were always entertaining. He picked up his scope and looked down it, spotting the little nest of twigs, resting on the branch he'd memorized. The nest was empty. Jerry let the scope fall away from his eye and concentrated, listening for any bird, at all. There were none, not a chirp, a peep, or a cry from the heavens above. It seemed even the ghouls were distracted, as even the moaning and shuffling had gone away. A cold sense of dread crawled into him, deep into his very bones. He stood up and looked down the scope, down the road that lead to his new home.

What he saw took his breath away, so much so he almost couldn't find the silent alarm to hit it. Four giant trucks were barreling down the road towards them, the men and women inside whooping and hollering. The trucks were painted red and black with fresh and old blood, bones of humans gave the things a hellish look. Half a human skeleton hung from the grill of the first truck, skin still attached here and there, the mouth agape like it was screaming. Though Jerry couldn't hear them he could read their lips clearly as they kept yelling 'Fresh meat!' Memories pushed their way through the block that was put up and now the Great Panic flooded through the man on the wall's mind.

He almost didn't hear the voices behind him shouting for an explanation, couldn't hear his own hyperventilating at the things he'd just seen, and remembered. It was Chelsea's voice that finally broke the stillness of terror, "Jerry! What is it?!?" All he could manage to do was turn to the small, blonde girl with the pretty eyes and say the only word that made sense and made everyone below him run with urgency to the armory, to their positions, to pray: "War."

Have To Know (Original Short)

Mark sat in the backseat, to his left Manuel, a medic, the man in the passenger seat was a mechanic, the driver another shooter, like himself. The blue SUV they all sat in screamed down the road, attracting more of the dead to them, but he didn’t care. Mark’s sister was the pilot of that helo. And he had made a promise to protect her. The ones he had promised were now long gone, but the promise still stands.

The snow was heavy on the ground, the last two weeks it’d been relentless. This only made Mark worry more, clutching the rails of his rifle and letting the metal bite into his flesh made sensitive from the cold. It eased the rising panic of thinking of his youngest sister, and only surviving family member, alone and running through hordes of the dead. The silence inside the vehicle was near deafening, all four of the men inside deep in concentration with the task at hand.

The drive would be easy. The roads had long since been cleared and the abandoned vehicles looted and moved aside. It made runs into towns for supplies and transport of approved survivors easier. Mark’s mind, however, was on what could have went wrong with the chopper. As far as he’d known the thing was in pristine condition, maintained and kept with careful scrutiny. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea that she had been shot down. But then that would bring the questions: by who? Why?

The answers he, himself, concocted made him uneasy so he checked his gear as the vehicle took a hard right. His pistol and rifle were silenced, the tac vest he had on was filled to the brim with ammo, and two knives completed the ensemble. Mark didn’t mind being a shooter, hell, he was built for it. Around six feet tall and near two hundred pounds of solid muscle, short cropped brown hair, with a square jaw. The other three in the car were varying builds, but it was more than obvious that Manuel was the shortest and scrawniest of the four. For some odd reason that comforted Mark.

The car took a sharp right turn. And what was the gentle hum of the street beneath the wheels was now the cacophony of dirt and sticks and the like being kicked into the wells and under chassis of the vehicle. Their journey was near an end. The four men looked to the field where the pillar of smoke climbed high into the sky, visible flames licking at the base of it. Jake, the driver began to assess the distance and started barking their orders, “Okay. Ten seconds, no more, no less. If the chopper don’t fly anymore let it burn. Find the pilots. If they’ve turned do what has to be done. If they’re alive we’ll find them.” He shot a look back at Mark, letting him know that one way or another his sister would be accounted for.

The flaming wreckage went from a small picture to just as large as life and the numbers were there, too. The dead were thick and gathered around the downed aircraft, hoping to find a meal made of living human. With some quick maneuvering the driver swung around and cleared a side of the helo for them to inspect, the bodies thunking loudly against the side of their car. Ten seconds to establish what happened. Mark let that thought take over as he let the floodgates of adrenaline fly open.

All four doors were kicked open, four sets of boots hit the ground, four minds started a grim task. The first shout was the mechanic, declaring the chopper useless, the second was announcing there was nothing but a bloody skeleton left of the other pilot, the third said that it was not June, his sister. Mark listened very carefully as he picked off ghouls that got too close to the car and the team. Their ten seconds was up. As they all made for the car Mark noticed a trail of shot zombies leading away from the crash. “She went that way!” The driver acknowledged it as they all climbed back in.

Hope blossomed like a fire with fuel thrown on it as Mark put one leg into the backseat, shifting his weight inside. Then it hit him. A set of rotted teeth came from beneath the car and sunk deep into his leg, right above his ankle. He screamed and tore free his limb, leaving behind some flesh. His door slammed closed and he looked up to find three faces staring at him. Before one of them could reach for their pistol he pleaded with them, “Let me find my sister, first! You can deal with me then. The bite is on my leg. I have at least two hours.” The other shooter began to slowly draw his pistol and Mark tried again. “Please. I have to know.”

Hands began to bang and claw at the windows and doors and the driver finally said, “Fine.” The vehicle was shifted into gear and they began to plow through the gathering horde, following the prominent trail of the dead. Mark watched intently, looking for signs, trying to think how his sister would think. Even as he did, though, he could feel his hope die more and more with every painful pulse of the fresh bite. The SUV danced over holes and small hills, making it more and more excruciating for Mark. In his head he pleaded, ‘Please be alive, sis. Please.’

Almost two miles from the site of the downed copter they found a single room shed in the middle of a corn field, the vegetables around trampled flat by the dead. More than twenty of the ghouls lay on the floor around the shack, showcasing his sister’s ability to shoot. Quietly he removed all his ammunition, his weapons, his tac vest, and had only his pistol in hand. Mark cleared his mind, felt the gun in his palm, felt the last glimmer of hope shining bright that his sister was alive. He placed his hand on the handle, “One shot means she’s alive. Two means go home.” The three nodded in silence, ignoring the dead that were currently stalking towards them as Mark left the car.

Three men watched the dark shack, eyes wide and waiting. Even the constant moans of the dead seemed quieter than a whisper. The first shot rang out, lighting the entire shack, beaming through the spaces between the boards that comprised it. It felt like an hour for the three men, watching, waiting, hoping. Another shot rang out and the shed lit again for a brilliant instant before darkness reclaimed it.

Writing Competition (Bettie Entry)

Apple Pie A la Mode

By Bettie

Are you sure?

Yeah. I got straight from the big man himself.

Shit.

Yeah.

How soon?

Tomorrow.

Shit

Yeah.

Can I get you folks some more coffee?

Sure.

Sir?

Yeah, Okay.

Aw, y’all look so sad, would you like some pie?

Yeah, okay.

Great! We have apple, pea-

Apple’s fine.

I’ll put a great big heap of ice cream on top for you, okay?

Thanks.

I’d fuck her.

You’d fuck anything that moved.

Not everything. I don’t want to fuck a dog.

That implies that you’d fuck some sort of animal.

Well, today I might, fuck it, why not?

You’re gross.

Says the woman who fucked a cucumber.

Many people have fucked cucumbers. It’s a thing.

Here’s your pie!

Shirley, you’ve fucked a cucumber, haven’t you?

I-what?

You know, gotten so horny you go and get a cuke out the fridge and fuck yourself with it

I don’t think I should-

Oh come on. You don’t know us, we don’t know you. Who we gonna tell?

I-um- uhhh

Don’t worry about it, Shirl. Thanks for the pie.

Um, okay.

Why you gotta be such an asshole?

What? I wanted to prove to you that it’s a thing.

But cmon, shes a nice girl.

Nice ass too.

You’re fucking gross.

So tomorrow?

Yeah.

What’s gonna happen?

Boss says it’s gonna be amazing.

Hail and brimstone?

I don’t know.

Just “Spectacular” he said.

Wow.

Yeah.

So what now?

What about us you mean?

Yeah.

It’s over tomorrow.

I know. Everything’s over tomorrow

We had plans.

I know.

Maybe we can speed it up?

Maybe. I don’t want to be there for it.

I don’t either.

What do you suggest?

We can get some pills, or a gun.

Guns are messy. Let’s do the pills.

Okay.

You’re oddly calm about it.

I’m with you. Nothing can faze me.

Damn.

Any regrets?

I guess I wish I had told you earlier I loved you.

Tell me now.

I love you, Maggie.

I love you, Sam.

I’ll miss you.

We’ll be together, there.

Yeah, but I’ll miss you here.

Okay, once.

What?

With a carrot

A carrot?

It was huge

Didn’t think you had it in you, Shirley.

Here’s a twenty.

Oh wow, thanks. But you just had coffee.

And pie

And pie. Are you sure?

Sure, Shirley.

Thanks.

No problem.

Maggie?

Yeah?

Let’s go. We have a few drugstores to hit up.

Have a good day you two!

Thanks Shirley! Stay away from that salad!

Oh Maggie.

Chelsea Atop The Wall (Original Short)

Chelsea sat at her post, watching the snow fall out on the abandoned freeway. The SUV packed to the brim with trained rescue guys just flew out of the gates that were promptly shut, entrapping her in her peaceful little world. Atop a twenty foot concrete wall Chelsea sat in her make shift crow's nest, watching the world below her, beyond her. Skills were bestowed upon her by her father, the last good hunter in the community meant she got duty of long-gun. Nobody took her seriously because of her age, but her targets and their constant holes where the bulls-eye should be, would command respect and often silence.

Winter had come in heavy this year, and she knew that she should be out hunting, trying to gather enough food to keep the ever-shrinking community fed, but after the helicopter went down a few hours ago, she got put on snipe duty. Her commands were easy: if it isn't alive shoot it. If they aren't from this community shoot them. No exceptions. At only 19 years of age the weight of having to take another human life was now a reality and she didn't like having to contemplate putting a living, breathing, person in her crosshairs.

Her eyes spanned the dead landscape, lingering for a moment on the black barked, leafless trees that surrounded their encampment. With not much imagination at all they looked like skeletal hands reaching up from the blanketed ground, stretching towards heaven to infect the good souls, that had left this wretched earth, with their disease and filth. Her thoughts went to her father, the summer, and having to run away while those things dragged him down and....She couldn't finish the thought. Suddenly the world around her looked like a painting that had been left out in the rain, swirls and waves distorted everything, until she closed her eyes, forcing the tears to run hot trails down her frozen cheeks.

With a gloved hand she wiped away the tingle on the tip of her nose, then checked to see if anyone saw. No one did. With her vision cleared she swept back over the desolate world outside, looking for a target. She found one. She found a few, no doubt rustled up by the opening and closing of the gate and the car that had left. The scope on top of her Remington 30-06 went to her eye, the red cross, vivid against the snow and the things, themselves, found the first head. The homemade silencer made a whisper of the shot and the slug made a mess of the zombie's head. Quickly and silently she caught the shell as it crept out of the chamber while she slid the bolt back with patience and precision. She found out the hard way they could hear a shell drop, even from twenty meters away. In a few minutes the eight dead things that had shambled out of the woods were nothing more than red smears on the porcelain white.

A row of clips sat upon the window ledge she looked out of. She didn't have any kind of disorder that made her put them in such a perfect row, but it did help to pass the time. She sipped at her barely warm cocoa and reloaded the freshly spent clip, placing it at the end and moving up the others, all filling in small indents in the snow. Boredom was nothing new. Boredom in this world, though, could get you killed. So she fought it with menial tasks, cleaning her 9 millimeter pistol and making sure the magazine ejected smoothly. She sniffed again, wiping away more tingles at the tip of her nose. She had to stay up there until the rescue team came back. It could take days.

She didn't have much room to wiggle about, but she made the effort. With a big sigh of relief as her stiff muscles had gotten just a taste of movement she settled back down in her tiny hammock type chair. She glanced at the community to her back, and all was well, it was when she looked back out to the road that surprise threatened to make her choke on her cold cocoa. There was a V formation of zombies heading towards them. At least thirty or forty of them. They didn't seem to changing course, they were coming for this community, like they probably had many others before. She slammed on the button that was rigged to an alarm system some computer guy built for them. Red lights lit the compound and hushed orders were passed along, the still community was now silently bustling for the impending attack.

The horde was a ways out, a good hundred and fifty to two hundred yards, enough to tell the numbers, but not close enough for detail. Chelsea brought her rifle up, took a deep breath and let it out slow as her finger squeezed. There was no need for stealth, now, her bolt flew open and closed like a veteran shooter. Each time her weapon jumped a head exploded into gore and red mist. A thought nagged her as she dropped her first clip and slammed in the next: 'Why are they in a V formation? They've never done that before.' Without thinking she aimed at the point at the front of the heard and what she saw jolted her: a young man was jogging ahead of the hoard, swaying left and right from exhaustion. His head was down, but there was no doubt he was alive.

Suddenly she realized this man's life was in her hands, he needed her, and if she didn't help him he'd end up just like her father. She had to do, now, what she couldn't do months ago. She had to save him. Through the glass and inch from her face she saw a rotted hand reach for his shoulder. She turned it's head into mush. She gritted her teeth and swore to herself that he would make it to these gates. Even if she had to go outside the wall and carry him. Soon other silenced rifles began to thin out the herd, dropping ghoul after ghoul, but no bullet coming near the young man. Less than 10 zombies and the young man made it to the red zone, fifty feet from the front door, and Chelsea had just spent her last bullet. She dropped her rifle against the edge of the window and ran down her tiny set of stairs.

Her snow pants and jacket made it hard to be as quick as she wanted to be, but she tried, anyways. She found herself yelling at the top of her lungs to open the door at the guard, Gary, but he wouldn't budge. She brought her pistol up and aimed it at his head, ordering him to back up. She hefted the steel bar herself and pulled it open. The last of the ghouls was down and the young man with long hair, covered in blood, his jacket torn like his pants, stood with his arms up, clouds of breath huffing out. He was trying to catch his breath, but managed, "I'm....I'm not bit! My name is M!" Chelsea didn't realize she was running towards him, towards the idea that other people were alive out there.

He dropped his pack and his pistol, which was empty, anyway and stared at her. She suddenly got very self conscious and stopped running as she holstered her own pistol, just in time to stop before him. She was a bit winded herself, but she tried her best to smile, "Hi. My name is Chelsea. You said your name is M, right?" He nodded, but his eyes kept darting over her shoulder to the other snipers that had the same orders as her, but she kept herself between them and him as she took his hand and started walking him into the encampment, his bag dragged with her other hand. "Welcome." It was the only thing she could think to say as they crossed the threshold. They were greeted with protests to another being brought in.

Chelsea could only level her blue eyes as best she could at her co-inhabitants as she spoke, "We're not animals. And we're alive. So is he. If we don't take him in then our name for this place is a lie." One by one people backed off and finally M asked her before they went on, "What's the name for this place?" Chelsea turned and could only smile as she looked up into his exhausted and stained face, "We call this place Hadley's Hope." She was confused as he started chuckling, and figured that exhaustion had caught up to him as he fell to his knees and then sat on the floor, laughing the whole time. She had to ask, "What's so funny?" He looked up at her, his eyes brimming with tears, "I found hope. In a dead world. I found hope." His smile looked so out of place, but she could only return it, in kind.