After- Undead Wars Read online

  He leaned down upon the baton and tried to catch his breath. His tears clouded his vision, forcing him to let go of the baton and palm the liquid from his eyes. Jack stood up and stared at all the dead faces. He felt defiant in his victory but halted himself from celebrating. It dawned on him that the Warden might open the gates, allowing the rest of the undead into the battle cage. Or worse, he might force Jack to fight all of them. One at a time.

  Jack slumped down to the floor. He removed the helmet and lay back upon the cold floor. The cracks in the ceiling paint reminded him of the zombie flesh. The texture was the same, but the gray color was different. Jack hated the color palette within the prison. But today, the grayness was a welcome sight rather than the purpled flesh of the tormentors around him. He cried some more, feeling broken. He had adjusted to prison life over the years and had grown to accept his fate within its walls. Things were different now. And getting worse.

  The tears turned to laughter as Jack realized the fight had just begun.

  THE END?

  Chuck Buda

  CHUCK BUDA IS A HORROR author and podcast host from New Jersey. He is best known for his love of pizza and Black Metal. Chuck grew up a fan of the Universal Monster movies and Leonard Nimoy’s In Search Of... Smitten with all things monstrous and unexplained, Chuck began a lifelong journey of searching for new scares and thrills. Chuck Buda co-hosts The Mando Method Podcast on Project Entertainment Network with author, Armand Rosamilia. They talk about all aspects of writing.

  A Cold Winter

  McKenzie Richardson

  THE ONLY GOOD THING about the cold is that it slows the rotters down. Sometimes they stand in one spot too long and their bloody feet freeze to the ground or they kind of hibernate in place, too cold to keep moving.

  They don’t die though. They just sit and wait. They are more like us than we like to think, I suppose.

  “WE’RE ALMOST OUT OF food,” Morgan said in a heavy voice. The ever-present shadow over his face seemed even darker as he uttered those dreaded words.

  “Should we make a run?” Tess asked.

  Morgan shook his head. “I think we’ve pretty much exhausted all of the supplies within walking distance of this hideout.”

  “Then that means...” Emma’s words drifted off, evaporating in the chill of the air.

  “We’ll set out tomorrow,” Morgan decided.

  None of us wasted energy arguing. We knew he was right. We had to move on, no matter the dangers.

  THE NEXT MORNING, WE hefted our remaining supplies onto our backs and left the relative safety of the farmhouse we had been holed up in for the past few weeks. That was the way we had lived for so long, it felt natural by now. Settling into a place, foraging the surrounding areas for anything useful, then moving on to the next, sometimes picking up other survivors along the way.

  Emma was our newest addition. We welcomed her into our group a few days after finding the farmhouse. The decision was unanimous from the moment we first saw her, expertly stabbing a rotter in the skull with a hunting knife, then effortlessly letting it slip to the ground without a scratch. You can never have too many good fighters in a group.

  Honestly, that was what really drew me to her. Her confidence was intoxicating. Those deep brown eyes didn’t hurt either.

  “I’m Emma,” she’d said, introducing herself when she saw us.

  The others followed suit as I stared stupidly, lost in those eyes. “And this is Aisha,” Morgan said for me, making my cheeks darken. She held my gaze and gave me a smile. Our fates were sealed ever since.

  THROUGHOUT THE JOURNEY, we did our best to ration our dwindling food supply, but luckily there was plenty of fresh, white snow to keep us hydrated.

  At the end of the third day, we had made it far enough from our last hideout to start looking for a new temporary home.

  “We’ll camp here for the night,” declared Morgan, gesturing toward a patch of trees growing closely together, forming a decent amount of shelter from the freezing wind.

  I took a seat next to Emma and flexed my fingers, trying to regain some of the feeling back into them. Alejandra sat down beside us, slightly out of breath. Her pregnant stomach bulged under her tightening clothing.

  Moving over, Emma took my hands in hers, rubbing firmly to warm them. I gave her a bashful smile and she kissed my cheek.

  That night, halfway through my watch, I heard a rustle to my right. Gripping my bat firmly, I turned, ready to attack.

  Thankfully, it was only Alejandra.

  “Sorry,” she said, her breath coming out in a long waft of warm steam. “Just have to take a wee.”

  I relaxed and lowered my weapon. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She waved me away as she headed for an area outside of the encampment. “I’ll be fine. This thing is doing horrors for my bladder though.” She patted her stomach and disappeared into the darkness.

  A moment later, I detected a sharp gasp in the silent blackness of the night. Then, Alejandra appeared at the edge of the clearing, a startled look on her face.

  “There’s a whole group of rotters just over there,” she said, pointing.

  I stood quickly, instantly alarmed. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. They’re frozen in place. I just didn’t realize there were any so close.”

  “Did they see you?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t even notice them until one let out a groan. Must have smelled me or something. We should be okay here though.”

  “Morgan has the next watch. I’ll let him know about it when we trade off. You get some rest now.”

  We bid each other goodnight, then she went back to her sleeping bag.

  WHEN I WOKE MORGAN for his shift, I filled him in on the situation. “I can’t believe I missed them,” he chided himself. “I did a scan of the area and thought it was safe.”

  “They aren’t an immediate concern,” I said, trying to make him feel better.

  But the guilt was plain on his face. “I should have been more thorough. We can’t afford to be careless.” He shook his head, disappointed in himself.

  He was right. But saying so wouldn’t ease the tension so instead, I excused myself to get some rest.

  WHAT SEEMED LIKE SECONDS later, I was awakened by a shout. I cracked opened my eyes to see the beginnings of the morning creeping into the dark sky. The sun wasn’t even over the tree line yet, but already the others were awake and moving.

  “Get up!” Emma snapped at me, shoving my pack into my arms. I blinked at her, the fog of sleep still clouding my brain.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Rotters!”

  This snapped me out of my daze. I snatched up my sleeping bag, clumsily rolling it up and sliding it into the straps of my pack.

  Soon, we were off once again, rapidly trudging through the snow.

  “What happened?” I asked Morgan when I caught up to him. His long legs carried him in one stride the distance mine took to cover two.

  “You know those rotters Alejandra saw last night?”

  I nodded gravely.

  “It seems a few of them weren’t frozen enough. Luckily, Tess saw them in time to get us all out of there.”

  I knew this did nothing to improve his mood. If we had just been more careful last night... But no, it was useless thinking that way. What was done was done. All we could do now was move forward.

  THE QUIET AIR ECHOED with the eerie sounds of our pursuers as we kept just ahead of them.

  “Should one of us hang back and take care of those biters?” Tess asked when we had stopped to rest in an overgrown field.

  “We should find a safe place first,” Morgan answered. “Then we can clear out any rotters in the area.”

  In the distance, movement was just visible in the tall grass. David tilted his head toward it. “They’re getting closer.”

  Morgan looked in the direction we had just come. “We should keep moving.”

  Just as we all stood to c
ontinue on, a wet snarl caught our attention. Whipping around as a group, we saw a rotter slowly crawling through the grass toward us. It slunk forward, digging its right elbow into the frozen earth and dragging itself, its broken left arm sliding uselessly along with it.

  With a quick stab, Emma destroyed its rotting brain. It went limp and collapsed with a soggy thump.

  “We should be careful, we don’t know what else is hiding in these grasses,” Morgan advised.

  Another rustle became audible. Two more rotters, short enough to be undetectable in the grass, appeared.

  “Move!” Morgan barked as he unsheathed his sword. “I’ve got these. You keep going.”

  I lingered a little to make sure nothing snuck up on him. As he raised the sword for the killing swing, he let out a groan of agony. I furrowed my brow. The rotters hadn’t even touched him.

  Then I saw Morgan go down.

  I raced forward, smashing the rotters’ skulls with my bat. Then I went to where Morgan lay kicking on the ground.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I saw what had caused him to cry out.

  On the ground, snapping and snarling, was a fallen rotter, laying partially buried and frozen to the ground, but still able to move its head and jaws.

  Blood seeped through Morgan’s pant leg, confirming the bite had punctured his skin. My eyes widened at the sight.

  “I didn’t see it,” Morgan panted, his voice raspy with panic. “I didn’t even see it.”

  Tears filled my eyes, then Morgan placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I need you to do this for me.”

  “No,” I answered, shaking my head and swallowing a sob.

  “You have to.” He locked his gaze on mine and I bit my lip. “Please.”

  Finally, I took the sword he handed me and slid it quickly through his temple.

  When I looked up through the tears, I saw the horde of rotters was closer now. I grabbed Morgan’s fallen pack, running on to catch up with the others. We kept going until breathlessly we reached an abandoned storefront covered with a thick security gate.

  I pointed to it. “There.”

  We broke the lock and rushed inside. Once we had made sure no rotters were there, we all toppled to the ground in exhaustion.

  A hesitant silence surrounded us until David finally spoke. “What happened to Morgan?”

  I cast my eyes downward. “He didn’t make it.” In response, they shook their heads solemnly. We had all lost many to the rotter plague. It was nothing new. But it still hurt every time like a fresh wound.

  When we had mourned our newest loss, we set about preparing the store to use as a shelter. I wiped Morgan’s blood from his sword, now my own, and sheathed it at my side, ready to take on his role and responsibility, hoping I could keep us all safe just as he did.

  McKenzie Richardson

  MCKENZIE RICHARDSON lives in Milwaukee, WI. Her work has been featured in the anthologies Mutate, Electromagnetism, It’s Behind You, Doomsday, and Evil Lurks as well as various online publications. Her first novel, Heartstrings, was published in 2018 and she is currently working on a book of dark fairy tale retellings projected to be available later this year.

  She also runs a crafting blog at http://www.craft-cycle.com

  For more updates on her writing, you can follow her on Facebook:

  http://www.facebook.com/mckenzielrichardson/

  A Transplanted Dr. Franks

  Katie Jaarsveld

  DEDICATED TO:

  Rob Shepherd, the greatest authority on Boris Karloff

  and

  Samie Sands, the zombie master.

  A special thanks to my editor, Ann Attwood

  Many respects to Mary Shelley, the inspiration for the story

  Zombies are all we hear about. We see them everywhere in groups of all sizes. They may be undead, but they still retain an intelligence of sorts. After all, they are trying to survive.

  The perfume/cologne manufacturers are making a mint with people trying to hide their ‘scent’ from the zombies. But the zombies have adapted and now use this new smell as an easier tracker than just smelling human brains.

  The zombies are being modified. Re-built. There are the ones who mutated from a virus, the tribe who survived cannibalism and were infected. Next of course are the ones who were bitten. Now for shits and giggles I suppose, as if those types were not enough, someone was trying to create his own breed.

  Taking parts from zombies, he pieced them back together. Not as who they were, but to form a new zombie. Stronger but a zombie, nonetheless. He will include his own blood in each one of his creations. Successful or not.

  If nothing else, maybe he could put an end to the zombie apocalypse. He would be successful either way.

  My name is Dr. Rob Franks and I am indeed a direct descendant of the Dr. Victor Frankenstein.

  I was always curious about his work, so I went to medical school to learn techniques and possibilities along with the natural decaying of living beings, including minors in mummification, alchemy and aromachology, the study of odors.

  This zombie infection had given me the opportunity to experiment and no one would question the loss of any zombie remains. Most would be content that the zombies were being disposed of.

  After studying my ancestors’ notes, his technique became obvious and I came to the conclusion that I could attach zombie parts to create my own Adam. Maybe more than one.

  I would keep a journal of my progress on each one, to keep from repeating errors as the late Victor had done.

  With zombies, I would have disadvantages and advantages alike, over Victor.

  First was to find a funeral parlor with a crematorium with which I could possibly share a space with.

  I looked for the ones who were not well advertised, maybe a failing business I could breathe ‘life’ back into, as well as whose location was a bit out of the way.

  I found one which would fit my needs perfectly and went for a visit.

  Being a funeral parlor, it was customary to enter and the bell on the door would announce your arrival with a nice, old-world charm. The placard on the door simply read ENTER.

  The floor plan existed of spacious rooms, common for this type of business in a bygone era when the whole town would present themselves at a passing. I could see a gentleman lying on the floor in the next room. By the amount of blood and the putrid smell of decaying meat, I could surmise that he had been bitten. He would turn but he hadn’t done so as of yet.

  When he saw me, he sat up, slowly pulling himself up to standing. He pleaded with me to kill him. I introduced myself and asked if this was his establishment to which he replied yes, and he would gladly give it to me as repayment for my kindness of killing him. He would rather die than become one of them.

  I hesitated then agreed to his terms. He left the room and came back with papers. His walking gait was different now, with a stiffness.

  The papers were signed in front of me. He then wrote on a blank sheet of paper and looked them over. Looking quite pleased he handed all of the papers to me.

  He beckoned to me that I should follow him down a set of stairs. The odors changed several times as we walked down a level. From the smell of a pine cleaner, to disinfectant, then bleach. The underlying smell of many deaths still lingered through it all.

  It was a basement morgue where I viewed three autopsy tables side by side in the middle of the room, with three more stationary tables lined against the wall, plus there were twelve individual drawers for bodies, as well as a larger forensic cold chamber with six metal bunkbeds for storing the dead.

  He led me to another door, which when opened, revealed a huge furnace room and also housed a crematorium at one end. He stated this mortuary ran the length of the house and for me to take good care of her as he had always done. His voice was becoming gruff.

  He stepped up on a stool with a great amount of effort. Then he sat down on a metal board with leathers straps and heav
y buckles which lay on top of the autopsy table. I was guessing he had seen his share of zombies too. Once he was seated, he went about removing his tie. His hands were none too steady in their task. He opened his shirt collar and lay down. He was ready for me to kill him.

  I stood at the foot of the table and performed my tasks in silence. I picked up the buckles attached to the leather straps. Starting with the legs, I strapped them down one at a time.

  He thanked me while I was strapping down the first arm. I only nodded, contemplating the upcoming job. I secured the chest strap. On the second arm, he offered to shake my hand before I had him fully strapped to the table. He tried to bring his face to mine. I quickly secured his second arm. I looked over at the clock for the time. 1508.

  I murmured my thanks to him, picked the scalpel up from the sterile tray and slit his throat from ear to ear. While he drained his life’s blood, I walked over to look at the papers he had given me.

  He had signed the deed for the parlor over to me. I signed my name as the new owner. The gentleman’s name was Mr. James Woods. The blank paper he had filled out was a Will. He had named me to inherit all of his possessions as he had no family to inherit or contest. That was a welcome surprise I hadn’t counted on.

  This would speed up my progress considerably. I now had a career, business, and home, as well as a place to do my research. The furnace being lit and running would not be questioned because of this being a legitimate business.

  I looked at the man as his life’s blood completed its draining and fished through his pockets for keys, identification and basically emptying them, so as to list the possessions of the deceased. Everything belonged to me, but I still wanted all documentation to be by the book.