Watching Dead

 

Here’s some zombiepodcast goodness for one and all:

 

Watching Dead with Jim an Aron

http://baldmove.com/category/watching-dead-walking-dead-podcast/
 

Their coverage of this past Sunday’s episode “Arrow on the Doorpost” can be found at:

http://baldmove.com/2013/03/313-arrow-on-the-doorpost-the-watching-dead/

They offer great insights and a special section after the end credits for spoilers so if you don't want to hear any you and just cut off the show at the closing music. More shows are covered at http://baldmove.com such as Breaking Bad, Downton Abby, Justified, Game of Thrones, and others.

More fiction soon, promise!

ZC

Munchies: Day 3

***This story copyright 2012 Mike Stewart, All Rights Reserved***

A drizzle of rain spattered the windshield of the green sedan as it careened over the slick streets of Tyson city. Within, a brunette girl looked uncertainly out the window at the darkness. Did they hide shapes? Was it just her imagination?

She glanced back at the driver, a brown haired young man hunched over the wheel trying to gaze through the misty rain. He cursed under his breath and increased the speed of the wipers, only to turn them off again as the windshield streaked lines of moisture across the view, causing streetlights to reflect in glare in bands and spots of color.

"Why don't you turn the headlights on, Michael?" Lisa suggested tentatively.

"No, we can't," he replied irritably. "According to the police, we shouldn't even be out after dark. You heard the city ordinance, 'Everyone should stay at home until the situation is contained,'" he quoted with sarcasm. " Yeah, right! Easy to say if you've got months of food in the pantry."

"So we just break in a store?" the young woman replied testily. She wiped her hand across her eyes in exasperation. "That's REALLY going to go over well with the police."

"We're going to leave payment," Michael reasoned. "Anyway, we don't have a choice; especially after that firefight at Albertson's this afternoon. No way I'm going to risk that, even with my carbine."

The driver gestured to the small rifle lying in the seat between them. It was an old M1 carbine, of World War II vintage. Michael had told Lisa that it worked just fine, but she'd always disliked guns and even with the current troubles she hadn't changed her mind.

Suddenly, Michael stopped the car at the intersection of Fifth Street and Copeland. The engine idled, and only the spattering of raindrops could be heard in the night. The driver turned his hazel eyes upon his passenger, concern written across his face. "Do you want me to take you back? I can do this myself you know."

"Noooo." She drew out her reply into a deep sigh. "If you're going to do something stupid... again... I ought to be there too." A wry smile appeared on her lips. "After all, you always say you can't do anything without me."

He grinned in reply. "True, but I know you don't like this. It's just safer at night, without those crowds. Besides, Brookshire's is supposed to be open 24 hours right?"

"Yeah, and so is 7-11." She replied archly.

The driver winced and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Look, Beth forgave me for cutting out on the store. Heck, she said if she'd been there with those sick people she'd have done the same thing! Plus..."

His excuses cut off as both of them noted shambling humanoid shapes staggering out of the darkness towards the car. Only two of them, but Michael decided it was time to get moving again.

*     *      *

As the sedan crossed the intersection Michael was able to take advantage of the streetlights at the corner to better navigate the roadway. Fortunately there was no other traffic so only the rain was a concern. Well, that and the two zombies behind them. Michael knew they were zombies, but the authorities refused to use the 'z' word. Lisa didn't like it either, so he kept calling them sick people. 'Yeah...' he thought to himself. 'Death is an illness. Sure.' He broke his reverie to concentrate on the drive. He slowed the car into a glide that coasted through a brief patch of darkness and turn right into the Brookshire's Grocery parking lot. The front of the building was lit up as usual, but only one vehicle was in the lot, an older conversion van parked with its nose facing away from the store and towards the street.

"Odd." Michael muttered as they closed on the lone vehicle. "You'd think there would be more cars in the lot than this? Even just counting employees, there should be a half dozen at a minimum."

Lisa glanced out the rear window and back again, her black hair tossing across her shoulders. "Michael, this is feeling worse and worse. There are two of those sickos back there at the intersection and I'm sure they saw us."

"Probably, but it will take them a while to get to the store." He shrugged and moved to park the sedan. "We'll just hop in, grab some stuff and we'll just cruise right out of..."

With a cough, the engine promptly died. Momentum carried the sedan to a near-perfect park in front of the store, silently rolling between the yellow lines and bumping softly into the concrete divider.

"Michael...." Lisa began, with a flash of her brown eyes and an edge of tension in her voice. "What was that?"

"Erm.... I don't know." He temporized uncertainly. "The fuel gauge was low, but it wasn't that low. Maybe if I pop the hood I can..."

"NO!" Lisa said with determination, shaking her head vigorously. "We're not going to stand out here in the rain while God knows what comes down the road at us!"

"Ok, ok," Michael replied in a brave attempt at sounding calm. "We'll just go into the store and see what we can find. Perhaps we can get whoever's running the place to call us a tow truck or something."

With that he grabbed his carbine and stepped out of the car, glancing around to make sure there were no threats in range. There were none, nor any people. Outside the car he could see that the glass doors of the store were broken in and some black fluid in a puddle just inside the grocery. With a sigh, he reversed his hold on his rifle and used the butt to clear more of the glass out of the doorway. Unfortunately, he hit the remaining glass too hard and his weapon jammed up against the frame. This sudden jolt caused the rifle to fire, fortunately into the air. Michael winced and looked guiltily around to see if the shot brought anyone or anything. Apparently not, or at least not yet.

Lisa closed her door and dashed up to the walkway to reach the dubious shelter of the storefront. She glanced at the crushed glass, apparently either unaware or ignoring Michael's accidental gunshot.

"Open 24 hours, eh?" She said, trying to look amused but her eyes were anxiously looking inside the front of the grocery. "I thought the interior lights were brighter than that?"

Michael shrugged and stepped inside, careful to avoid the noxious pool of, whatever it was. "Maybe they're starting to have power brownouts. Wouldn't surprise me after those riots in North Tyson."

The young woman quickly joined her companion, and once inside they could see that the lighting wasn't weak at all. The illumination was dim because the store was filling with smoke. No fires could be seen, but the smoke had the telltale odor of burning wood, paper and plastic to it; a miasma that set warning bells off in Michael's mind.

"Awwww, Come On!" Michael shouted in utter frustration. "Now a fire? Give us a break!"

The young man glanced outside the doors- which were still locked even though the glass was shattered out of the doorframe. So Lisa was the first of them to see a large shape moving quickly out of the smoke, directly for them.

"Michael!" She shouted, bringing her freshly sharpened practice rapier into an en garde position. At her shout, he turned around and aimed his rifle directly at the shadow barreling towards them.

Before he could fire or even shout out a warning, the sound of a large box hitting the floor echoed in the entryway, followed quickly by curses in a woman's voice. The duo tried to peer deeper into the gloom, and finally could make out a large box of groceries; mostly cereal, dry goods and cans spilled in front of them. Above this was a young blonde woman of about 20, her blue eyes streaming from the smoke but staring with confusion at them. They stood like that for several seconds, each too surprised to speak. With a glare at the two in her way, the unlikely shopper raised a baseball bat in a threatening manner, her eyes darting back and forth between the sword wielding Lisa and the rifle armed Michael.

"Get out of the way, damnit!" The woman said in a voice high pitched with stress and fear. "The building is on fire!"

"Nooo, really?" Michael said in an exaggerated manner. Lisa gave him a warning look, so he tried again. "Right, and I'll bet you were the arsonist?"

"NO I wasn't!" She said defensively, her words rushing over themselves to get out. "It was one of those things, I thought I got the one here at the door and I guess I did because he's still dead or re-dead or undead or whatever they're saying it is now but I was looking in the back for something better than was left on the shelves and there was another one and it jumped me but I'm not bit or anything 'cuz I jumped out of the way see and I hit him good but he fell into the breaker box and something sparked and he caught fire and then staggered around still trying to get me and he grabbed things and they caught on fire again and again until this started and..."

"Ok, Ok, OK!" Michael broke in to the avalanche of words, lowering his carbine in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "I'm sure it's not your fault, but the police won't see it that way, not for any of us! Now, is that your van out there?"

Broken out of her stream of consciousness monologue, the blonde blinked as if coming out of a trance. "What? Um, yeah that's my van."

"Good!" Michael replied with some relief. Now if you don't mind maybe we could possibly siphon off some of your gas? Not much!" he hastily amended, as she seemed to be gathering her words for another verbal barrage. "Just a gallon or two to get us back to the house."

"House?" The unwilling arsonist said with concern. "Well, I don't' have a place to stay except that van, and I'm from Houston so I'm going to need every drop I've got to get back there."

"You could come to our place instead?" Lisa offered. "Just for a day or so, until we can get you more gas? That way, we can get back home and you have a place to stay for a bit...until all this blows over?"

"Yeah" Michael agreed. "Besides, from what I've heard on CNN you don't want to go towards Houston. Or Dallas, or any major city right now. The riots here in Tyson are nothing to what they've been suffering."

"Ummmm. Ok." Their new companion said with some relief. "Truth is, I was going back to Houston because I don't know anyone here. A safe place to crash would be great...<cough - cough! >"

"Cool. Now let's get outta this place before we go up with it!"

As Michael stepped outside to watch for trouble, Lisa helped the blonde girl with repacking the box and getting out of the smoky interior. "By the way, my name's Lisa and that's Michael. What's yours?"

"Kailee. Kailee Warner. Nice to meet you," she said with a weak smile, trying to be sociable but obviously feeling awkward.

Michael walked into the parking lot, glancing through the rain towards the intersection south of them. The rain seemed to be letting up, so the streetlights gave enough light to se four or five of the staggering monstrosities gathering into a group and coming their way.

He turned and jogged back to the girls, who were loading the box into the side of the van. "We've got company. Five or more of those folks. We need to move!"

As if on cue, a burst of flame came from the rear-side of the grocery store, a sharp contrast to the night and could probably be seen for a mile. Needing no further encouragement, Kailee dove through the van to the driver's seat. Lisa pulled open the door and slid into the passenger's side front. Michael stepped into the back interior of the van, with seats pushed to the rear to maximize room. There were two other boxes of foodstuffs in the vehicle; which made him feel a little better about the evening's events.

"Michael, this is Kailee. Now, what are we going to do about your car?" Lisa turned to face behind her as Kailee started the van and pulled it out towards the street.

"No big deal." Michael replied with irritation, giving his sedan a parting glare. "I didn't have anything of real use in it. Besides, if the cops ask questions I'll say it was stolen. Easy enough to explain considering how things have been going in the past 48 hours..Oof!"

The half-standing man lunged for a strap on one of the seats as Kailee made a hairpin turn into the street.

Which way are we going?" the blonde shouted, though there was little noise to shout over. Michael imagined it was still nerves; the stress of the past few hours catching up with her.

"Go south, then turn right; to the west. There's too many of those people in the street, so we'll take Copeland back instead. It's a bit roundabout, but if the cops show up maybe we don't want to head straight to your house Lisa."

Her only reply was a nod of silent agreement as the blonde continued her manic drive across the street, avoiding the intersection by hopping up on the curb. She turned right, lightly clipping one of those...zombies? As she dropped the van back onto the street and floored the accelerator, careening at high speed into the darkening night.

Graveyard Shift: Day 1

This story copyright 2012 M. Stewart, All Rights Reserved

     Picture the scene, a typical 7-11 convenience store late at night. The ceiling lights illuminated a shuffling figure staggering out of the back room with a harsh, disturbing glow. Dragging his feet, the hunched figure nearly fell as it grazed the edge of the coffee station, but kept on its single-minded course…towards food. Closer and closer the shambling form came, until it found the sustenance he so craved. With a moan, he lunged toward his desire and sank his teeth deeply into the flesh, savoring the feast.

     “Bzzzzz!” The electric buzzer at the doorway was loud in the nearly empty store, causing the clerk to stop munching his microwaved hot pocket. He looked around the counter, hunting guiltily for a napkin while desperately trying to swallow his greedy bite down his throat. The store clerk was young, in his early 20s with hazel eyes and brownish-blonde hair. Short for his age, he was about five foot eight but squarely built. His face was unremarkable, but carried a friendly look and easy smile, which tended to put people at ease. Which certainly helped him at his current job, though the graveyard shift didn’t often get many customers; especially at a store with no gas pumps and located on an off street from the Tyson City loop.

     Finally finding a paper towel, he quickly made himself presentable and prepared to give the proper, corporate-approved greeting to the quartet entering the store. Which was ‘Hello, welcome to Seven-Eleven! Can I help you’ Though thanks to the excessively large bite he’d taken from his 2am meal it came out more like “Who, Welyum to Sehvn-Leven, Cahn I hlpe youh?”

     Still, Michael did his best to give the correct greeting and keep a smile. A district manager had fired one of his co-workers after a spot-inspection where he came in as a customer and didn’t get the “right” treatment. ‘The last thing I need right now is to be unemployed.’ Michael reflected with depressing thoughts of a late rent check on his mind.

     But to his shock they didn’t ask where the beer was, or the cigarettes, or even a Slurpee. Instead, of the two men and women that rushed into the store the older man glared with hostility toward Michael “Is that your car out there?” he nearly shouted before any further pleasantries from the 7-11 employee manual could be voiced.

     “Er…. um, yeah.” The clerk replied, clearly at a loss. Of course it was his car, there weren’t any others in the parking lot. Did he think I walked to work or something? His train of thought was derailed by the next demand. “Give me your keys, NOW!” he shrieked at Michael, knocking the cigarette display case off the counter with a fist.


     “What?” Michael blinked. This was nuts! He looked at the other 3 people, two women and one guy. The last was holding a towel over his arm, and the obvious red flow of blood was soaking the cloth. Michael turned back to the shouting man, trying his best to sound calm and reasonable.


     “Look, guy… I can see that your friend is hurt. It’s obviously an emergency, but why don’t you call St. Mary’s Hospital for an ambulance? It’s just down the road, and the phone is right here.” He gestured with one arm at the telephone on the counter. With his other hand, the clerk was quietly reaching below the counter for anything he could use as a weapon. His hand fell upon a bottle of Strawberry Hill some teenagers were trying to buy earlier in the evening. ‘Not great,’ he thought, ‘… but it’s better than nothing.'

     As Michael expected, the angry guy didn’t want to hear reason and with a snarl he lunged across the counter shouting, “My bud’s hurt and we’re getting away from those sickos…NOW!” He snatched up a handful of the clerk’s shirt, but this simply gave Michael the opportunity to swing around with the wine bottle and crash it over the side of his attacker’s head.

     At this point, three things happened. First, Michael noticed that the bottle didn’t shatter like in the movies, but instead simply broke a section away and covered both of them in cheap booze. The second thing was that the target of said bottle didn’t fall unconscious (again as in the movies) but instead screamed in pain and released Michael to concentrate on holding his own head; where blood oozed between his fingers. Third, the end result of the action left the 7-11 employee holding two-thirds of a broken bottle, which bore a nasty point and edge along with a spattering of blood on the rough blade. All this combined to cause the two girls to scream and proceed to drag their wounded boyfriends out the door and into the night.


     “Wow…” Michael said out loud in a voice quiet with bemusement. “You don’t see that happening every day do you?” His pride at being able to so easily deter a carjacking faded quickly as he realized the register and the front counter (and floor) was now covered with $4.75 wine and a bit of human blood. Not to mention his own work shirt, which was soaked and rather fragrant. With a sigh, he started to move to the back room to get the cleaning supplies. There might even be a spare work shirt in there since that anal manager fired Billy, come to think of it. After a couple of steps, he stopped and instead turned around and moved to the phone. He’d better call this attack in to the police. Not a 911 call, but if he didn’t report it at all, and his manager found out…he’d be dead for sure!

*          *            *

     With a grunt the lone occupant of the store lifted the mop bucket to the steel utility sink and began emptying the water. He glanced back through the doorway to the now sparkling register area. ‘Well, at least Miller should be pleased things are looking so clean…though with my luck those weirdoes will show back up and try again.’ Michael had dutifully called in the incident to the police and dictated a report over the phone, but the dispatcher seemed distracted and inattentive. That sort of spaced-out ‘you-think-I’m-writing-this-down-and-I-should-be-but-I’m-not’ tone to her voice, which was frankly irritating. If she doesn’t care enough to write it down, why make him go through all the details in the first place? ‘This must be why most beer runs and gas runs aren’t reported to the cops, regardless of store policy’ he grumbled to himself.

     As if reading his mind, the flashing red lights of a police car entered his field of vision and illuminated the parking area. The lights created red bands of color through the front glass panes of the display window; a rather disturbing effect. “Well, well...” Michael said to himself. “Looks like maybe that bimbo took down my details after all.” But no, why would they be coming in with lights flashing? The incident was now over an hour old, and he hadn’t seen the carjackers since. Not only that, the car parked at an angle, with the cruiser’s nose pointing toward the main intersection of Loop 232 and Biloxi Road; pointing nearly the opposite direction of the storefront. ‘What the hell…?’ the confused clerk thought as he abandoned the mop and bucket to wander toward the front doors. It looked like something far more interesting than losers trying to steal a car and getting cheap wine in the head was afoot.

     By the time he made it to the doors, Michael could see that both the police officers were out of their vehicle, one facing the intersection and the other leaning against the hood of the car…with his pistol drawn? Beyond them, he could see what looked like two figures staggering slowly across the intersection, the street lights defining their outlines but little else. Michael could hear the policeman nearer to the figures shouting something to them but the words were muffled through the glass doors. It was obvious however that he too had his pistol out and was in a traditional Weaver firing stance. “This is just getting weirder and weirder!” the clerk said to himself with some bemusement.

     Then things went horribly wrong. The two forms in the intersection seemed to speed up to a lumbering jog as they came at the cops. Both began to fire on them but the advancing attackers seemed to ignore the shots. With a snarl he could hear even in the store, Michael was shocked to see them tackle the first police officer behind the cruiser. He couldn’t see what was going on, but the other cop began to run around the front of the car to assist his partner. Before the officer could reach his comrade, Michael saw out of the corner of his eye another lumbering form come out of the next-door Dairy King parking lot and fall upon the distracted officer. While the first cop and his two attackers were still out of sight of the 7-11’s front door, Michael could see all too clearly that the policeman’s attacker was clawing and biting the trooper, and blood was spurting on the asphalt!

     That broke Michael from his paralysis. With a shout of outrage, he ran back to the register to find the small baseball bat they normally kept for robberies and beer runs. He’d come across it earlier in the back while getting the mop and bucket and decided to put it back under the register. The Manager tried to discourage the clerks from keeping it around, worried more about potential lawsuits to 7-11 instead of little things like his employees being stabbed or shot, but this night was too weird for Michael to worry about that crap. He leaned over and quickly snatched up the bat, turned and ran through the doors onto the front walk.

     And stopped in his tracks. To his horror, he could now see clearly that the attacker from the DK was tearing the policeman apart. Blood was everywhere and intestines were spilled onto the gray asphalt, they’re red and pink a nauseating contrast of color to the parkway. Michael clamped his teeth together and tried to slow his breathing. ‘I won’t be helping anyone if I hurl right now.’ He thought to himself while slowly gaining control of his gorge. So intent was he on this that only now he saw several people running across the loop towards the police car. As they entered the streetlights they were revealed as frantic people from the nearby bar across the way, one of who looked injured and the others were waving and apparently trying to get someone’s attention. Michael figured they saw the flashing lights of the police cruiser and probably thought help was at hand. Only when they crossed the road did they realize that the police were in no shape to help them and they turned and scattered; with most running towards the EDCO grocery store down the street. Their reactions would be funny to Michael if this evening wasn’t so terrifying.

     That paralyzing feeling of terror only grew in Michael as he saw that the blood-covered maniac on this side of the cruiser seemed to tire of the dead cop lying in pieces below him. Still chewing on a strip of tendon, the figure started to get to its feet, looking at Michael with the blank look of a drug addict, a crazy person,….a zombie?

     “Screw this!” Michael said and made a managerial decision. 7-11 insisted that since the clerks were on shift alone that each one must be willing to make decisions to protect the store and the company. So Michael made a decision, but not one that Southland Corporation would probably approve of. He leaped into his own car (fortunately parked next to the front door) and revved the engine. The zombie-like murderer started staggering forward, trying to grab hold of the car’s rear bumper. The now-frantic man slammed the car into reverse, hit the accelerator, and drove over the creature behind the vehicle. With the screech of tires, the sedan barreled out of the parking lot and onto the road. He raced away from the killers down Biloxi Avenue, heading south towards his apartment. He needed to get back home, wake up his girlfriend Lisa, and they could both head out of town to her folks’ place in the ’burbs. ‘Yeah, that’s the ticket,’ his thoughts raced with the accelerating car. When wiped the fear-sweat distractedly from his forehead. ‘Get out of town, get safe… Find a secure place until all this blows over…’

The End…for now?

* * *

Those interested in reading the All Things Zombie battle report for the above story can find it at:

http://thosewhoremain.blogspot.com/2011/07/day-1-of-zombie-outbreak.html

Zombie Chow