Zombies II: Inhuman

First Edition

Published by Naked Snake Press

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©2010 Eric S. Brown

Cover illustration and interior layout copyright © 2010 by Donna Burgess

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Introduction

A lot of people ask me why I write zombie stories. The simple truth is that I am a zombie fan. From the moment I first watched Dawn of the Dead, I was hooked on the zombie genre of horror. I don't care that many feel zombie tales are cliché. I have never cared that zombie tales are often more difficult to sale than straight horror stories. When other authors ask me if I am worried about being labeled as and known only as a zombie writer, I just smile.

Writing for me isn't about money or fame. It's about fun and the walking, flesh-eating dead. Aside from my family, zombies and comic books are my life. I devour every zombie film and book I can get my hands on and yet my wife still lets me live in the same house as her. She's very supportive of my career and my addiction as long as my zombies never leave my study.

After writing zombie tales for a bit over five years, I started thinking about combining my two hobbies: Superheroes and the Undead. Pretty much any zombie tale worthy of being called one is about the end of the world and the extinction of the human race. In a world where the dead walk is it therefore so unlikely that God or nature or merely evolution would grant a select few the power to survive to carry on the species? That's the concept behind several of the tales in this collection. "Evolution like Lightning" attempts to quickly answer the question of how normal survivors of an undead plague would respond to super-humans suddenly appearing among them while the tale "Ghost" is actually the origin story of one of the characters from the title tale "Inhuman."

"Inhuman" itself attempts to take a look at what life could be like for meta-humans who can read thoughts, bend steel with their bare hands, or channel electricity as a weapon in a world where every day is a fight to stay alive. And if super-humans aren't your thing, well, this book contains zombies in the old west, some very hungry animals, intergalactic zombies used as weapons of war, and traditional zombie tales too. So dear reader, I hope you enjoy reading these tales as much I did writing them and that you remain a fan of the dead. I know I will be a fan of all things zombie for the rest of my days and nothing will ever change that.

Evolution like Lightning

Michael blinked and looked around. They were gone. The pack of dead creatures which had nearly managed to surround him intent on making him their next meal was nowhere to be seen. His heart was thundering in his chest and he reached up to touch the fresh sweat dripping from his hair as it began to sink in. The dead weren't the only thing that was missing. Everything around him had changed.

He'd been standing on his front porch trying desperately to get back inside his own barricaded house with the supplies he'd looted from what remained of the local grocery store. The dead had followed him home and had been closing in. All he could remember was thinking he'd never get the locks undone in time and that he needed to just drop everything and run. Now he stood in the middle of a city street as barren and dead as the ones in his hometown with skyscrapers looming above him.

A woman's scream ripped him from his confusion as she rounded the street corner and came running into view. Her clothes were ragged and it was clear the end of humanity hadn't been as kind to her as it had to him. Here in the city, or wherever the hell this was, it must be harder to survive than just being boarded up in your own house alone. Five of the dead creatures, two women and three men, came bounding around the corner after her. Blood and drool flew from their snarling mouths as they closed in on the woman.

Michael had no weapon. He'd dropped his .38 on his porch along with everything else as he'd fled still he couldn't just stand by and watch her die. He screamed what he hoped sounded like a battle cry and charged the dead things, punching the lead creature in the face.

As his fist made contact, two things seemed to happen at once. The creature's head exploded in a burst of bone and brain matter and time seemed to slow down. Michael watched in awe and horror as the blood appeared to float in the air until it finally began to feel gravity pulling it to the street. The other creatures and the woman were barely moving. Michael knew he must be going mad but stayed focused on the task at hand. By whatever miracle the lead creature was dead but there were still four more and only one of him. He spotted a tire rod lying amidst the litter covering the street and ran for it.

Snatching it up, he returned to the creatures. None had moved more than a few inches at best. Driven by an instinct to stay alive and a growing frustration at not understanding what was going on, he tore into them, pounding each in turn until the things were barely nothing more than standing piles of bloody pulp. When he stopped moving all five collapsed to the ground. The woman didn't look relieved though. She stared at him as if he were a demon who had appeared out of thin air and screamed again.

"It's okay I am not going to hurt you," he said as he tried to calm her down.

"What the hell are you?" she gasped.

"My name is Michael," he whispered moving closer to her. She stood there sobbing as she continued to stare at him. He took her in his arms both to comfort her and himself. It'd been so long since he'd seen another living person. He didn't feel her knife slide up through his ribs until it was too late. He looked down at the growing red stain on the front of his t-shirt.

He heard her scream something like "die you freaking monster!" in slow motion for what felt like an eternity as she twisted the knife blade deeper and deeper until he fell and the darkness embraced him.

Inhuman

Something thumped in the darkness of the warehouse. Thorne awoke with a start his hand grabbing up the .38 that lay near his sleeping bag. Instinctively he closed his eyes once more and reached out with his mind scanning the building for the thoughts of others. A cold shudder ran through him and he grimaced with disgust as he felt the Holes. Thorne had labeled the Dead "holes" after the first time he'd scanned one of them. Their minds were just active enough for him to feel but barren of thought and terrible to touch as the emptiness in them seemed to go on forever. There were three of them close by and moving in his direction from where the warehouse's main doors led out onto the docks.

Thorne breathed a sigh of relief. He could deal with three of them if it came to that but the warehouse was a huge place with more than one-way out. With luck, he'd be able to dodge them altogether. He got up and quietly gathered as much of his gear as he could with the hope of slipping away long before the dead stumbled onto him.

A burst of wind blew by him so powerful it nearly threw him from his feet. Thorne stood in the shadows wondering what had just happened. Wind didn't blow indoors. He reached out again to discover the mind of someone else very much alive. It was full of rage at the holes yet there was an underlying sense of pleasure in its thoughts.

Somehow, the mind had just appeared near the holes. Wait. . . Now there were only two holes . . . No, all the holes had vanished. Thorne felt a gust of wind on his face and in front of him stood a young man dressed in street clothes holding a machete that dripped blood onto the wooden floor. The man smiled offering him a hand. "Hi, I'm Nate. Couldn't help but notice you on my way in. I thought maybe you could use some help."

Thorne looked Nate in the eye and spoke a single word, "Sleep."

Nate collapsed tumbling over as if struck by an invisible blow to the head. Yanking some rope out of his backpack, Thorne knelt by Nate and hurriedly tied the man's hands and feet. It was a dangerous chance to take. More of the dead would surely be coming if the ones Nate had slaughtered could find this place yet Thorne didn't see any other option. If he simply left Nate behind, the young man could prove far more deadly to him the shambling flesh-eaters if what Thorne suspected about him were even partially true. This man had to be dealt with now. There was no way around it.

Nate woke up and Thorne could tell without even touching his mind that the young man was trying to move.

"Don't bother," he whispered, "I've shut down selected portions of your brain. You're not going anywhere soon. Oh and you're also tied up," Thorne added almost as an afterthought.

"What the hell are you?" Nate asked.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," Thorne laughed. "Are you a speedster?"

"A what?"

Thorne sighed. "That's what they used to call characters in comic books that had superhuman speed. Are you like that? Is that how you got in here, killed the three dead, and got back to me so fast?"

"If I say yes, are you going to let me go?"

Nate's eyes went wide. "What the hell are you doing man? I can feel you inside my head!"

"Getting ready to let you go," Thorne told him.

Suddenly Nate could move. He sped up his atoms and vibrated through the ropes which held his hands and feet, snatched the blade he'd dropped, and froze in place as he swung it at Thorne. The blade stopped inches from Thorne's throat. Nate couldn't make himself finish the swing. He took a step back and glared at Thorne.

"I wouldn't try to run off just yet either," Thorne smiled. "I'd hate to see what happens to someone when they trip if they move as fast as you do."

"What do you want?" Nate demanded.

"Other than your word that you're honestly not going to try to kill me again? Let's start with how you found me. Just what exactly are you doing here?"

"I like to get out and have some fun okay?" Nate waved the machete through the air finding he could move freely as long as he wasn't thinking of harming Thorne. "Look dude, I just want to go home alright? Let me go and I swear I won't chop off your head or come after you."

"You live around here?" Thorne asked shocked that anyone could actually still have a home in the city.

"It ain't the Ritz but we get by."

"We?"

"Yeah, we, man. What did you think you were the last one left and all that crap?" Nate mocked him. "There are four of us. We took over one of the local hospitals. We live on the tops floors, made it where the deaders can't get up. It's about as safe as anywhere can be these days."

Thorne caught a glimpse of Nate's thoughts. "The people you're staying with, they're like us?"

"You mean freaks? Sure man, how the hell else do you think we've survived?"

Thorne felt more holes or deaders as Nate had called them making their way into the warehouse. "How far is this hospital?"

"Couple a miles north of here, deeper in the city. I can take you there if you think you can make it."

"How? The city is overrun with those things. There's no way we can make it by them all."

"Speak for yourself. I can get by them easy. As for you, I spotted a national guard APC abandoned just a bit down the road. I bet it still works."

"Fine," Thorne answered. "Let's move. You take the lead but don't even think about darting off without me, understood?"

Thorne and Nate crept out of the warehouse through one of its street entrances. They stood in the shadow of the building with the sun rising behind them as Thorne took in the scene. The dead milled about. He could see the APC setting in the middle of the road. There were at least three dozen of the dead between him and it and he knew there would be a lot more as soon as they saw Nate and himself.

"Hang tight." Nate told him. With a whoosh noise and gust of wind, Nate was gone. Thorne heard the APC crank up. Its engine roared to life and its massive wheels rolled over one of the dead as it backed its way into a position to get turned toward the warehouse. Nate must have kicked it into gear because the vehicle roared its way straight at where Thorne stood waiting.

The dead were becoming excited. Dozens upon dozens more of them came out of the surrounding buildings and alleyways pouring into the street. Thorne took aim and downed one of the closer ones with a head shot from his revolver as the APC pulled up to him. Nate leaned out and waved him over. Thorne darted for the cover of the vehicle slamming its heavy metal door into the face of the creatures as he jumped inside. Nate opened up with the anti-personal machine gun on its turret cutting down the deaders around them.

"Stop playing around, damn it!" Thorne yelled at him.

"Ain't no cause to get riled man," Nate joked. "Just hit it already."

Thorne slid into the driver's seat and the APC plowed through and over the dead as it headed north. Thorne cut the engine as they pulled up to the hospital Nate claimed was his home. There were thousands of deaders in the streets. The APC rocked from the pounding of fists against its armored hide.

"Now what?" Thorne asked.

"Dude, a little faith please," Nate remarked. "Climb out on top of this thing and I'll get you in. Trust me."

Thorne had no choice. He climbed up through the gun turret out onto the APC's roof looking down into the sea of hungry faces around him. He knew the things were going to flip the APC at any moment. Wind blew over him and he felt Nate's arms around him. The world became a blur as he was hurled upwards. Nate had darted out of the APC running down the street, dodging the dead as he built up speed then headed back like a streak of lightning taking Thorne in his arms.

He carried him up the side of the hospital and in through a window on the eighth floor. The next thing Thorne knew he was bouncing across the hospital's tile floor as Nate dropped him and fell to his own knees panting. Nate appeared on the verge of passing out. Sweat dripped from his black hair and he glared at Thorne.

"You weigh a freakin' ton dude," he commented.

"One hundred and seventy pounds, actually," Thorne replied as he started to get to his feet as a hand fell onto his shoulder. He looked up into the face of a stunningly beautiful young woman. She had short brown hair cut well above her shoulders and wore a green dress that was breathtaking. She smiled at him as electricity shot through his body and his world went black.

Thorne awoke in a hospital bed. His hands and feet were bound to the bed by leather restraints. The young woman sat next to him with her hand placed open palmed on his chest.

"Nate told us what you do. Even think about getting into my head and I'll fry you to a crisp," she warned him.

Nate stood off in a corner of the room. A tall blond man stood at the foot of the bed looking down at Thorne.

"Welcome to our home," he said in a voice which was anything but friendly. "I am sorry about the restraints but even such as us can't take chances these days. You've met Nate. The young lady beside you goes by the name of Arc. You may call me Victor."

"I thought there were supposed to be four of you," Thorne commented.

"There are," Victor assured him as the image of a man appeared in the room. His body was transparent and shimmered as it floated above Victor. The ghost-thing waved hello and vanished into the air as quickly as it had manifested.

"Yes," Victor nodded, "As cliché as it is, his name is Apparition. He is only with us sometimes. As I understand it, he was once like you, Thorne, but upon his death he evolved so to speak. It's hard for us to communicate with him but I believe he claims his body is still out there on the streets somewhere, perhaps one of the creatures outside this very hospital. We do not know for sure nor does it matter. Obviously, the state he exists in keeps him from helping out much. But what of you Thorne? What you have become surely is rather pointless in a world filled with the dead."

"I make do," Thorne informed him coldly.

"Do your gifts work on the dead?" Victor asked. "Or are they truly mindless?"

Thorne remained silent. The girl called Arc glanced up at Victor. "Let me fry him. He's too dangerous to keep around."

Thorne stared at her. How could someone so beautiful be so cold? How could she think so little of life in a world where it was so rare?

Victor raised his hand. "You have two choices Mr. Thorne. You're either one of us or you're dead. Can you be of use to us? Do your powers work on the dead?"

Thorne frowned. "Kind of, I can sense the dead as well as I can sense the living. Knowing where and how many of them there are around me is what's kept me alive."

"Hmm... Like a radar sense for souls. Interesting," Victor mumbled.

"And they are pretty much mindless. I can't bend their wills and make them eat themselves or anything if that's what you're wondering. There simply isn't enough left in them to work with that way. I have though on occasion with great effort been able to shut off the senses of one or two of them just enough for me to slip by unnoticed but it's like trying to drive a car with your hands tied."

"I see," Victor announced. "You are better than the norms. You may stay with us if you like as long as you understand that if you touch our thoughts or scan us even passively without our direct consent I will personally rip you to shreds and feed you to the monsters in the streets below."

"Fair enough," Thorne agreed wondering how Victor was going to know if he used his powers but he was not stupid enough to ask.

"Unshackle him Nate," Victor ordered. "Our new brother needs to see his home."

Arc led Thorne through the hospital's corridors. It was clear she disagreed with Victor's choice to let him stay. Thorne could hear the veiled anger in her voice as she showed him around.

"As you can see we've made this place livable. We grow our own food both on the roof and in several interior gardens as well. Not that we need to. Nate can acquire almost anything that we need within a hundred mile radius or so. We've a well stocked armory that we have put together should we ever need it and a large cache of medical supplies from the hospital itself. The entire top three floors of this building are ours and completely cut off from the rest of the building. If you're not Nate or a ghost like Apparition, the only way in or out is a long climb. Our living quarters are located here on the top floor. You, Nate, and I have rooms on this side of the building. The other side belongs to Victor."

"We get rooms and he gets a wing. Seems fair," Thorne joked.

"Victor needs the space," Arc growled. She paused in front of a green door. "This one's yours."

Thorne glanced inside. The room looked more like a mad scientist's lab than a place to sleep. There were computers, reams of paper, notebooks and tools everywhere. He spotted at least three devices that appeared to be microscopes of some sort. "Copy," he muttered.

"Look," Arc warned him. "You can clean out the junk. Samuel's gone. The bastard defected. It's not like you're going to have trouble finding a bed in this place to drag in here."

"Who's Samuel?"

"I'd rather not talk about that okay? Ask Victor if you want to know."

"What do you mean defected?"

"Switched sides, sold us out, betrayed us- take your pick. We're at war Thorne and you've just joined the winning side. Be thankful for it." Arc walked off without another word leaving Thorne standing alone outside his new room.

Thorne spent the next few hours getting used to the hospital and selecting a bed for his room. It was work getting the bed dragged into the room and a space cleared out for it. He found himself wondering how Samuel had slept in this room much less lived here. He managed to stack all of Samuel's notes and things into a single corner vowing to take a look at what they were before he discarded them but now it had been a day and he needed sleep. It had been a while since he'd slept in a real bed and he was looking forward to it.

He stretched out and felt his eyes already beginning to close from exhaustion. Sleep came easily to him but it was far from peaceful. He dreamt of the dead waiting on the streets below. Yellowed teeth, slick with something red and warm, gnawed at him as ragged fingernails dug into his flesh.

A knock that sounded like machine gun fire tore him out of his nightmare. As he awoke he realized Apparition had been with him in his dream. The man had screamed three words over and over again as the dead ripped Thorne apart and the ghost watched on. "Victor. . .The end. Victor. .. The end."

Thorne pulled himself out of bed as the knock became even faster.

"Hey man, you dead in there or what?" he heard Nate yell.

Thorne opened the door. Nate stood in the hall with a plate of food. "Figured you'd want breakfast amigo. Victor wants to talk with you pronto so I didn't think you'd have time to hit the kitchen."

Thorne eyed the plate, his mouth watering. "Are those real eggs?"

"You bet," Nate answered. "Snagged them from a farm just outside of the city."

Thorne took the plate sitting down at one of the room's worktables.

He shoved a computer to the side and started shoveling the eggs in his mouth.

"Take it easy man. You're not going to be starving anymore like you were out there."

Thorne looked up at Nate to say thanks but Nate was long gone.

He took a bite out of a piece of toast and wondered what Victor really wanted from him. He longed to take a look into Victor's mind but he'd promised he wouldn't and his life depended on that promise if Victor really had a way to know when he used his gift.

Thorne found Victor waiting for him on the roof. The tall blond man stood like a king on top of the hospital looking out at the horizon.

He paid no attention to the thousands of dead who wandered about below. "I trust you slept well," Victor stated not even bothering to glance at Thorne.

Thorne moved to stand beside him. "It was certainly a change from being down there."

"Thorne, I am not going to lie to you. The room you are staying in belonged to my father, Samuel. He hurt us all badly."

"Samuel," Thorne answered. "Arc mentioned him yesterday. She said he betrayed you, switched sides."

"It's true. The world may be dead but we're still at war, Thorne. I'm not talking about the dead. They are seldom a real threat to such as we. It's the norms that are the danger and it's them that my father left us for."

"You mean people? There are still people left alive out there?"

"Yes. The last great holdout of mankind lies just beyond this city. When we first took shelter here my father approached them and sought an alliance with them. He thought that together we could start over, bring the world back from its knees rather than merely watch it slide slowly into death's waiting arms as it is now. But can you guess how they reacted?"

Thorne shook his head.

"They came for us Thorne like a mob hunting down Frankenstein's monster. They called us freaks. They feared us more than they did the dead. Some of them even blamed us for the dead tearing their way out of the ground. They sent a group of heavily armed killers in place of a diplomatic party to eliminate our threat to their existence once and for all. They broke into our home, wounded Nate and Arc before I could intervene and would've killed us in cold blood if they had been able. I fed them to the dead in pieces. It was clear to me then, Thorne, that if the world is to be reborn, it must be people like us who take charge.

"My father disagreed. Even then he couldn't be made to understand the truth. We held a meeting and the other four of us of agreed that we would take the norms sanctuary by force. They would be made to see that we were not a threat. They would serve us and help us begin again. My father would have nothing of it. Outvoted though, he had little choice but to go along with our plans. When the day came, he turned on us. You see Thorne; my father is a tele-mechanic and a genius. He understands machines in way no one can. Even in this barren world I have seen him create technological marvels beyond anything mankind ever achieved in all its glory."

"So how did he stop you? I mean there are three of you and Nate alone is like an army. It doesn't sound like his gift was aggressive enough to handle you guys."

"Oh, my father didn't use any powers against us. As you say, his gift was not of that line of abilities. He had built ways to stop us, fail-safes if you will to keep us in line. He saw us as the great betrayers of mankind not himself. He took out Nate first with a net actually able to contain him. He used the hospital's sprinkler system against Arc. It was brutal. She took days to recover. He even hurt me."

"Hurt you? Are you invulnerable? Is that your gift?"

"I am many things," Victor turned to face Thorne staring into him.

"He's building them an ark."

"An ark? I don't get it."

"He's building an ark to leave this world behind for the stars. He must be stopped before they allow him to lead them into the void. Nothing awaits mankind up there but death as surely as if they stayed here without our hands to guide them and keep them safe. Will you help me save the human race Thorne?"

"How? I'm just one person Victor."

"Samuel doesn't know you exist. It's unlikely he has devised a way to counter your power. You can kill him with a thought Thorne and afterwards your gift will make you the perfect watchman to help keep the norms in check until they see the truth of things. You would have a chance to create a paradise with me unlike any this world has ever known. Eventually I believe we'd even be able to reclaim this entire planet from the rotting grasp which holds it now."

Victor watched Thorne thinking over his words.

"I'll do it," Thorne agreed but even as he spoke the words he reached out subtly trying to touch Victor's mind. He had to know if Victor was sincere in his desire to start over and rebuild or he if was just a madman bent on gaining power for himself. He felt an unnatural wall around Victor's mind and knew he had made a mistake.

Victor's eyes glowed red with anger. He grabbed Thorne by the throat with a single hand lifting him into the air and dangled him above the horde of dead below. Thorne fought against Victor's hold on him but the man's grip was like steel and his flesh felt more like metal than skin. Thorne strained to reach into Victor's mind. His eyes went wide as he realized why he couldn't. "You . . . You're not alive,"

Thorne gasped.

"I am sorry you feel that way," Victor said calmly. "Things would have been far easier for us all if you did not." Blood stained Victor's fingers as they dug into Thorne's neck. "My father felt the same after he finished me but I am more alive than any of you will ever be. This is my world now Thorne. Goodbye." Victor whispered sadly and released Thorne.

Thorne screamed looking up at the thing that called itself a man as he fell to the streets below. The dead fought over his splattered remains in a frenzy as Victor wiped off his hands and began planning how to defeat Samuel on his own once more. The battle to come would be bloodier now but it was a small price to pay to make his visions real.

Reapers at the Door

The blaring of alarm klaxons tore Scott from sleep. His worst nightmare had suddenly become very real. The alarm could only mean one thing; the war had reached the Talon VIII station at last. He rolled out of bed, dragging on his uniform, as he clumsily tried to open a com-link to the bridge. No one up there was either able or had time to answer his hail though he guessed as the attempt failed.

Visions of "Reaper" war-pods attaching themselves all over the station's hull and spilling their cargo of moving, violent, rotting flesh into the corridors filled his head. The "Reapers" didn't fight space battles.

Their ships dropped out of nether-space already breaking up, spewing thousands upon thousands of boarding pods at the enemy target they engaged. Nor did the "Reapers" believe in combat themselves.

Only one out of a hundred such pods actually contained a "Reaper" shock-troop. The rest were crammed full of dead humans whose bodies the "Reapers" had acquired at the start of the war by using biological weapons without warning against the outer colonies.

They possessed Billions of human corpses that thanks to their bio-manipulation of the dead had become the perfect foot-soldiers for them in the war. The reanimated dead attacked anything alive, which wasn't a member of the "Reaper" race.

Scott know the Talon's defensive systems would have thinned out the number of pods before they reached the station but Talon VIII was a "New Earth" era station and was mostly automated. Counting himself there were only twenty-three members on its crew. He knew himself and the others were as good as dead from the second he had heard the alarm. The "Reapers" never sent less than five thousand boarders regardless of their target and its strength. They firmly did believe in overkill rather than taking chances. Besides the dead were expendable and were easy to replace or to reanimate again.

Scott darted from his quarter and headed straight for the armory. Call it a human thing to do, but he didn't intend to just sit around and wait on death to come to him. As he rounded the corner of the corridor that led to the lifts to the lower level, a section of the corridor wall melted away in front of him opening up into a "Reaper" battle-pod.

Men and women who stunk like spoiled meat came pouring out into his path. Their rotting flesh was a pale grayish color but their eyes glowed orange and locked onto him with a feral rage. He cursed loudly spinning around to head back the way he had came with the shambling dead giving chase behind him.

Scott nearly ran head on into the Talon's security chief, Heather. Her battle armor was tattered and blood leaked openly from claw and bite marks covering her body.

"Get out of here!" she yelled at him. "Everybody else is either dead or cut off." She shoved a pulse rifle into his hands as he stared at her amazed that she could even be standing let alone barking orders. She moved past him opening fire with her own at the approaching horde that howled for the taste of his flesh. Scott snapped out his shock as she screamed back at him.

"Blow the damn core!" Then she vanished from sight as the wave of the dead washed over her.

Scott started running again gripping the weapon she'd given him in white knuckled hands, his boots pounding on the metal floor of the passage way. A smile began to creep onto his face. "Of course," he thought, "The core." He and his crewmates may be destined to die out here in the void aboard the Talon VIII as it was overrun but at least he could take some of the "Reapers" and all of their drones here with him.

Scott skidded to a halt outside the blast doors that led to the main core. His fingers danced over the keys of the lock entering the access code. The huge doors dilated open and Scott found himself face to face with a real living, breathing "Reaper."

The thing stood nearly nine feet tall and was all yellow scales and muscles. It hissed spraying venom over his face and eyes. Scott cried out as he felt his eyes melting inside their sockets and his skin smoked where droplets of the saliva had made contact. A huge two fingered hand and thumb closed about his neck lifting him from the floor with the sound of cracking bone. The "Reaper" dropped Scott's form to the floor and stepped back as the dead approached. It flicked its forked tongue through the air.

Things had gone very well and its pets deserved a treat. It made no move to stop the dead as the converged on Scott, tearing and ripping at his flesh with hungry teeth.

Deadlier Country

Elijah laughed bitterly at the hand fate had dealt him. When the dead had begun to rise, he'd leapt into action. He had always been a loner. There were no loved ones or friends in his life to hold him back and prevent him from fleeing the city as quickly as possible. He was one of the first looters in the streets as the chaos erupted.

He'd systematically sought out the supplies he would need from a .22 rifle with several boxes of shells to a shotgun for stopping power and a sidearm, to a large hiking pack which he filled with canned foods, bottled water, and camping gear. Some of it, he bought from shops that were still open despite the hell around them and the rest he stole. He thanked God he hadn't had to kill anyone though he had had a brawl with a gun shop owner who was trying to close up and lock down as he'd entered.

Elijah had crammed all his stuff into a SUV he hotwired and sped out of the city without looking back. The interstate had been covered with abandoned and wrecked cars so he couldn't travel as fast as he'd hoped he could. There had even already been packs of the dead wandering the roadway but none that he hadn't been able to avoid. He'd thought his logic had been sound. Get away from the city to the far less populated countryside and he would stand a much better chance of surviving to carry on long after the cities had burned and been overrun by the legions of newly risen dead.

Elijah drove for hours straight into the middle of nowhere. Only when the road turned to gravel, the house he'd seen was a couple of miles behind him, and the trees surrounded him on all sides did he stop.

He ditched the SUV, carrying all he could on foot, and headed out even deeper into the woods. His plan had been so perfect, well thought out and executed without a snag. Weighted down by his supplies he'd hiked as far as he could before he'd made camp, still patting himself on the back for making it out here with so little trouble. It wasn't until the first of the creatures came bounding out of the trees at him with saliva and blood dripping from its hungry mouth that he realized just how huge of a mistake he'd made.

Elijah barely managed to get his loaded shotgun up and ready in time to defend himself. He squeezed the trigger with the creature so close that when the shotgun's blast blew its decaying form apart, its blood and intestines splattered over him. He lumbered over to its twitching body and smashed its skull in with the shotgun's butt. He fought down the urge to vomit as taking the time to do so could cost him his life. He heard movement in the brush and knew the thing hadn't been alone. Snatching up what he could from the gear he'd laid out, he took off sprinting away as fast as his legs would carry him. His breath came in ragged gasps and his whole body burnt from the effort as he forced himself to keep going.

The houses he'd quickly driven by not long before were now his only hope. He made a point to cut through a small creek hoping the moving water would cause the creatures to lose his scent. The image of the one he'd shot lingered in his mind. Its body had been torn to pieces on the ground before him but its head had remained intact, twisting in the dirt of the forest floor as its teeth continued to snap hungrily until he'd finished it.

At last, Elijah saw a house in the distance. Truth be told, it was more of a shack that appeared to have been abandoned for years but he didn't care. It had walls and a door and that was enough for his purposes. He reached inside himself and found the energy for one more burst of speed like a runner who sees the finish line in sight. He didn't try to open the door or see if it was locked. He barreled into it throwing his weight against its wooden frame.

The cabin's door slammed inward and he went toppling across the floor of its single room. He jumped to his feet discarding the meager supplies he'd been able to salvage, with his shotgun still in hand raced back to the door, and slammed it shut. Its hinges had been damaged but it still worked well enough from him to get it closed.

His eyes scanned the room desperately searching for anything he could use to brace the door with. The cabin was clearly deserted. Other than a single chair, a desk, and a small stack of wood beside its fireplace, its sole room was empty. He wondered if it were some kind of "way station" for hikers who needed a respite from the elements but didn't have time to dwell on the question of the cabin. He pushed the heavy desk against the door and slid to the floor leaning his himself on it. Only then did he allow himself a moment to breathe.

A wolf howled somewhere in the night outside. It was an unnatural cry of sickening pain which ended in a gargling wheeze. The howl didn't surprise Elijah. The wolf he'd faced off with had had half its upper back exposed with both its fur and flesh torn clean from its body.

In the flash of his shotgun, he'd seen the white bone of its spine before the weapon's blast had struck the creature. He figured if the dead humans formed packs to hunt the living, wolves certainly would as hunting packs were already part of their instinctual nature. That's why he had run from his camp. There was no way that wolf could have been alone and the howl proved it. There was no telling how many of the damned, rotting animals were out there circling the cabin.

His eyes were drawn to the fireplace. He hauled himself up and went over to it fishing around in his pocket for a lighter. He quickly got a fire going and then hurried once more to add his weight to that of the desk against the doorway. Not having a fire had not been an option.

If wolves could come back to life too like people then the last thing he needed was an undead squirrel crawling down the chimney to rip his face off.

"Why in the hell had he thought only humans would come back?"

He cursed himself.

The cabin's only window exploded in a shower of glass as the first wolf leapt through it. Elijah jerked up his shotgun, pumping a round into its chamber, as the thing landed gracefully on the floor across from him. It tried to growl at him though its throat had been torn out.

A wet, flopping sound filled the room as its windpipe vibrated where it dangled from the thing's open neck. It tensed up to pounce at him as Elijah pulled the trigger and took his shot. This time his aim was true and the shotgun's blast burst the wolf's head like an over ripe melon.

Elijah felt his makeshift barricade buckle against his back as the scratching against the door began. He held his position holding the door closed by shoving his backside into it as two more wolves came through the window. Cursing he tossed his shotgun aside and drew the pistol holstered on his hip. The fight was over before it truly started.

Elijah fired getting off a trio of shots. Two of them struck the lead wolf sending it sprawling but his third shot went wild as the second wolf grabbed his gun arm in its teeth and ripped at his skin with its paws. The first wolf got up and charged him going straight for his throat, cutting through his jugular and windpipe alike as its massive jaws closed around his neck. Elijah's body twisted and fought against his fur covered attackers as his blood flowed out onto the wooden floor.

His body rolled away from the doorway no longer holding the desk in place. The door slid open under the force of the paws pushing against it outside and still more wolves entered joining their brothers in a feast of warm, once living flesh until all that remained of Elijah was bone and scattered pieces of clothing.

Ghost

The pounding on the walls of the bunker never stopped. Night or day, it was always there. Burke wondered if the hordes of creatures outside took turns. Surely it couldn't still be the same ones who had first started the damn noise. By now, would those first creatures even have anything left of their hands?

A vision of rotting bodies with the white of bone protruding from battered and crushed wrists, slamming them repeatedly against the metal of the only door to the bunker came alive in his head. He shuddered and tried to continue opening his lunch, pushing the mental image out of his mind. He was down to the last dregs of the bunker's supplies and the can of meat his was opening, he knew from experience, made the thought of cold, greasy Spam even sound appealing in its place.

Burke hated his visions. He'd been born with the ability to see things that others couldn't. Sometimes, he could watch faraway places through his mind's eye like a gazing through a crystal ball. He could also reach into another person's mind and read their thoughts as if they were his own.

On his most clear of days, he could sometimes even catch glimpses of the future. It had been hell growing up with his "gifts". He'd spent most of his thirty-odd years of life bouncing in and out of various asylums. He'd had his first visions of the end when he was only four years old. His parents had thought it was just a nightmare induced from his love of horror films but the visions kept coming and soon they were frightened by the images he'd described of men eating men, women being ripped apart, and rotting dead things that didn't stay dead.

When he'd finally gotten free of the last institution, Burke had felt it in his bones that the end he'd been seeing for mankind was near. Using his gifts, he'd conned and forged his way into the military. Burke had no wish to die and the way he saw it, the military would hold out longer than anyone else in a world destined to be overrun and eaten by the dead. Of course, things hadn't exactly worked out as he had planned.

His unit had been assigned the duty of trying to hold the containment line around Richmond. The battle had been raging for days when he and his fellow troops arrived to offer reinforcements to the poor souls who had held it during the early days when humans still emerged from the city intermingled with the dead as they tried to flee. The army was fully dug in around the city fighting a pointless war. The containment lines around New York and many other places had fallen.

There were rumors of nuclear strikes on American soil in places where the lines had failed to retrain the dead but no one believed them and hearing or seeing actual news was a thing of the past. Most civilians were too busy just trying to keep breathing, journalists included.

Burke fought with his unit two days before things began to fall apart. They were taking heavier losses each day as their arms stockpiles grew smaller and the dead pushed closer with each wave of rotting flesh leaving the city in search of new meat. People began to desert the line in droves, heading off in search of their own families, whether to say goodbye or to try to start over, Burke had no idea. He stayed to the end until only he and the commanding officer General Stark were left.

They enclosed themselves in the fortified walls of the command bunker and took pop shots at the dead still flowing from the city out into the world beyond. Stark's thoughts of gloom and hopelessness cut into Burke like a razor more and more with each passing hour.

There was no way he could shield his mind from them trapped in such close proximity. He had no choice but relieve the General. He'd blown the man's brains out with a point blank shot from his sidearm. He felt no guilt over it. He knew it was what Stark wanted and would have done himself if he'd been able to give him the time to.

Burke had never been a long-range telepath but he tried now. He spent his time attempting to understand his gifts and force them to grow. He would sit perfectly motionless with his eyes closed and reach out into the world seeking someone else alive. He always saw death in his visions and never heard a single other thought which wasn't his own. In fact, all he could feel in the world was a coldness which seeped into him and made him consider following Stark on to the next life every time he awoke from one of his trances. Today was no different.

His mental searching left him hollow and the food he was opening turned his stomach. He listened to the pounding outside for a moment once more and then let go, simply willing his heart to stop. Burke blinked or would have if he'd still had eye lids in a normal sense. He looked down at his body on the floor of the bunker as shock flooded his mind. What the hell had he become? A ghost?

He didn't know but he was sure this wasn't what death was supposed to be like. He reached for his weapon but his fingers glided through it as if the metal wasn't there. It began to sink in that he was no longer part of this plane of existence though he could see it. He laughed silently at the madness of it all. Deciding he would make the most of God's little joke on him, he walked out of the bunker and literally through the horde of mindless dead outside to bear witness to the last days of the human species. He hoped deep down that maybe he'd meet another ghost like himself.

DeadTown

The scent of the corpses littering the ground stank to high heavens. The flaming summer sun baking their rotting flesh and us as we stood there didn't help matters none. I can sympathize with Peter. He didn't ask for this job like I did. He's just the sheriff, not a professional killer.

I can tell from the slight glint of tears in his eyes he wants this all to be over with. That this massacre is all it will take to right the world once more. But it's not. These poor bastards were just the beginning.

Others will smell the blood here or sense the life in Springtown in the valley below and they will come again.

Next time it likely won't be a few dozen either. It never is after they find you. It will be hundreds, maybe thousands. I have been on the run from them for a while now since I saw the first ones walking around in Mexico. I move north from place to place always warning the folk of what's coming in my wake and offering them my services. Never found a town that's held against them yet even my guns added to theirs. But Hell, the money's good and I ain't dead yet.

I spit into the face of the closest corpse at my feet as Peter finally gets it together and starts barking orders. Dillon and his brother, Jack, are the only two others left alive in our little hunting party. Peter tells them gather up the bodies and burn them. I don't bother to help. No one says a word to me about it. Those dead things are scary, but people like me are scarier. That's why we'll be the last to die.

Besides I know the whole thing is a waste of time, seen it done before. If Peter wants to try to clean up our tracks and lower the odds of more of the dead things coming down out of the hills, who am I to crush his hope. I think deep down Peter knows the truth too on some level though he would never admit it to the folk in his town or even to himself.

Peter watches the fire as the "brothers dim" get our horses and the sun falls from the sky then we're all in the saddle on our way back to Springtown. Too bad for us, they have beaten us there. I can smell the dead before our horses crest the hills around the town and we see the fires burning. One glance at the mess below would be enough to tell any sane person to get the hell out of dodge and make dust in another direction, any direction but down there, only Peter ain't sane when it comes to his town.

He's got to try to save them. He kicks his horse's sides, charging down the hill, so fast it surprises even me. The brothers follow him. I pause for a second, taking the time to light up a smoke, weighing my options. The town's already paid up, no reason for me to go down there but I decide to play the good guy anyway and do them all a favor. I hear the sound of metal scraping leather as my revolver comes free of its holster. My first shot splatters Peter's skull open before anyone so much as hears the shot.

The brothers are stunned, too confused by my actions to go for their on weapons on instinct. I take out Jack next because he's the smarter and faster of the pair of idiots. I put a bullet in his face and watch him topple off his horse then I get sloppy. Don't know why, bad luck, the glare of the stars, who knows? It takes me three rounds to drop Dillon for good. I feel a bit bad about the gut shot, never should have happened but the third one I put in his eye means he won't be getting up later so it's not like he'll be upset about it.

I stare at Dillon's body still telling myself I took the high road. Peter never had the chance to see his dead wife coming screaming at him with red smeared lips wailing for the taste of his flesh. And for the brothers, my sloppy work was at least cleaner than being ripped apart and eaten.

I turn my horse away from Springtown's ruins to try to find somewhere else to breathe a while longer but I know even the last to die has to die sometime. Though I won't see Hell tonight, other than the one on this earth now, I'm still just the walking dead myself. There's a set of yellow teeth or a bullet out there somewhere waiting for me to find it. And somehow, with the way the world is dying, I think it will be sooner rather than later.

Sunday Watch

The cities were dead. At least that's the way Travis figured it. Most folk here in Jackson died that first night when all hell broke loose. It'd taken every officer in the department and every able bodied man sheriff Morgan could enlist to clear out the town and bring back some semblance of order. Travis knew Morgan was doing all he could.

Hell, everyone in town was but he still hated sitting out here in the field by the interstate on a Sunday afternoon. He'd rather have been home watching the races except there weren't any races anymore.

Travis guessed the NASCAR drivers were dead too. He hated to imagine Dale Jr. stumbling around in the pit at some track somewhere, his rotting flesh stinking to high heavens because the poor bastard was too mindless to get out of the sun.

Travis picked up the AK-47 from the passenger seat and opened the patrol car's door to stretch his legs. Time passed slowly these days whether you were sitting on your ass in a field keeping an eye out for the wandering dead or sitting in the bar with your buddies, it didn't matter. It always felt like you were just waiting to die.

The once high grass crunched under Travis's boots as he got out of the car. Even the damn dead getting back on their feet and eating the living hadn't ended the drought here in Jackson. Everything green was drying up and dying like the rest of the world.

He caught the sight of something moving on the interstate from out of the corner of his eye and turned to see a dead man dressed in National Guard combat fatigues making his way down the interstate's exit ramp to the road beside the field. Travis checked the silencer attached to the barrel of his rifle and sighed wondering how many of the dead he'd sent to hell over the last few weeks. Had to be going on a hundred, he was sure.

He leaned over the hood of the car and took aim, only squeezing the trigger when he was sure of his shot. The bullet struck the man's head snapping it backwards before the man's body stopped in its tracks and toppled to the asphalt.

"Head shot," Travis muttered and smiled. "That fucker is staying down."

He walked out of the field, shouldering his weapon as he went.

This was the part of his job he hated the most. Now that the thing was dead again, he had to drag its body out of sight so that any other corpses which strayed by wouldn't see it and come to investigate in hopes that the body was still fresh enough to feed on.

The man was Travis's third kill of the afternoon. The things were showing up more and more with each passing day. If their numbers didn't level out soon, Travis would have to start walking out to the fields because Morgan would convince the town that it was the noise of the patrol cars in an otherwise silent word which was attracting the dead.

Travis admitted that Morgan might be on to something with that theory but sooner or later, a good portion of the dead from Asheville and the other close cities would wander their way into Jackson regardless. It was just cold and simple logic that the creatures would spread out in search of food and there were so many of them that it was a statistical certainty that enough of them would eventually make it to the town to wipe it off the face of the Earth.

Travis reached body of the man and stood over it. He thought he recognized him in spite of the maggots which swam over the man's flesh and the gaping hole in his skull. Yep, it was Billy Clayton all right. There was no doubting it. When the shit first hit the fan, Billy's unit had been called up by the governor to help contain the outbreak of dead in the cities. Travis remembered driving out to Billy's house with Morgan the day before Billy had left. Morgan had done all he could to convince Billy not to leave the town but Billy was young and stubborn. He bet Billy wished he'd listened to Morgan now.

Travis squatted down, pulled Billy's military issue sidearm from its holster, and inspected it. He popped the clip and checked the firing mechanism before he slid the gun into his own belt. A good weapon and ammo were not things you left to go to waste no matter who their owner had been. Travis picked up Billy's body with his hands under Billy's arms and started to haul his remains over to the ditch beside the road. The sound of someone moaning caused Travis to jerk his head up. Billy's body thumped to the road as Travis let go of it.

"Oh, holy. .." Travis breathed. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Hundreds of bodies were heading down the interstate's exit ramp towards him, pouring onto the road like ants from a hill, only they weren't just coming from the interstate. They were coming out of the damned trees all around the field too.

Travis raced back to his car. The creatures were already dangerously close as he slid into the vehicle's driver seat and grabbed up the radio. "Morgan! Answer me damn it! They're coming! Hundreds of them!" The radio crackled but remained silent otherwise.

No response came.

Travis fished around in his pocket for the keys. He had to stand up and get out of the car before he could dig them out keeping his eyes locked onto the approaching horde of decaying bastards. In his hurry, he dropped the keys as he yanked them out. He whirled around to pick them up from where they'd landed behind him to come face to face with Morgan himself, only it wasn't Morgan.

Dull, glazed over eyes stared into his own above the blood stained uniform Morgan wore. They told the tale of the town's fate. The dead must be pouring in from everywhere, Travis thought. He screamed as Morgan's cold hands grabbed his shoulders and held him in place as the sheriff's teeth sank into his throat.

Travis's scream became a sickening gargling noise as his blood welled up inside him and leaked out from his mouth as Morgan chewed. He fell to the ground with Morgan on top of him still tearing into his flesh. A few of the dead stopped to join Morgan in his feast but the rest walked on towards the town of Jackson to see if anyone else was left alive.

With the End in Sight

"Hurricanes came and went doing untold amounts of damage to the eastern coasts of the U.S. Earthquakes ravaged the mountains of the Appalachians and tsunamis brought the ocean to the streets of California. The summers grew cold and the winters became a rain-drenched spring. Electromagnetic lightening danced in the skies.

"Humanity was helpless, powerless to change the course of nature. As our world crumpled around us did we reach out for one another, to try to salvage what remained? I'm afraid you won't like the answer. We turned upon ourselves like dogs driven mad with fear and frustration.

"Nuclear fire scorched the land and bio-weapons of the darkest origins filled the air. People bled from their eyes. Stomachs swelled not with life but with mutated abominations. They ripped out of our shells from men, women, and children alike to walk the land. In the end, the monsters were called "Demons." They were not alive but they were hungry. . ."

Ben stopped as the door to his quarters slid open. "End oral history log seventeen," he said to the shelter's A.I. and spun around in his chair to face Marcus who stood in the open doorway.

Marcus looked at him with something that stunk of pity. "Why do you do it, Ben?" he asked. "There's not going to be anyone left to play back your logs and learn from what you're recording."

Ben didn't answer instead he asked, "How bad is it today?"

The younger man laughed. "Hell is still at our door."

Ben got up from his seat. "Then let's go have a look at it."

The pair made their way to the shelter's highest point where its communication spire actually protruded from the cracked earth. The dome was the only part of the shelter that was above ground.

"Clear," Marcus ordered to the force barriers which served as both the dome's walls and windows. The whole top of the spire became transparent and the two men looked out into a sea of demons and demon-seed . Most of the things surrounding them were the traditional lot, dead men and women with glowing yellow eyes devoid of anything that could be called a soul with a monster growing inside their reanimated corpses but among their ranks, the number of true demons had grown.

Some were beasts, covered in blood and fur, which stood on two legs and clawed at the force barrier with a frenzy that was beyond their seed who's mindless pounding continued on without ever stopping. Ben watched as a demon with a pig's face slammed its head repeatedly into the barrier leaving a smear of saliva and yellow liquid. He felt sorry for the maggots which crawled loose from inside the thing's skull just in time to be smashed as its head made contact again.

Marcus started to order the barrier opaque, but Ben stopped him.

"How much longer Marcus? How much longer must we endure this until the shield fails?"

Marcus smiled. "That's what I came to tell you. The shelter's power levels are almost depleted. We have a few hours left on the high side."

"Good," Ben nodded. "Then at last we'll have done our duty and held back the night as long as we could."

"If you say so sir."

Ben tore his eyes from the scene outside. "I need to go finish my logs before the power fails. How are you going to spend humanity's last hours on Earth?"

Marcus held up a small cylinder. Ben recognized its symbol as that of a powerful neurotoxin. "I'm going to get drunker than hell, sir, and shoot myself up with this as the shield collapses. By the time those things find me, I'll be long gone."

"It's a fitting end to our time here," Ben shook his head. "Why shouldn't you meet death happily?"

"I suppose so," Marcus agreed.

"Goodbye Marcus," Ben said and left the spire heading back to his quarters. He stopped only long enough to collect an automatic shotgun from the shelter's armory for he too would need a way out when his work was done and the horde came spilling in.

Author's Biography

Eric S. Brown is a 31 year old writer living in NC with his wife (Shanna) and son (Merrick). He has been writing for a bit over five years and seen his short fiction published over 300 times in various small press and professional markets including the highly praised Undead anthologies from Permuted Press. He has also written nonfiction for newspapers, webzines, and magazines including a "how to write horror" column in The Horror Writer magazine. He has written one zombie novel and two zombie novellas that are available in paperback as well as had published five collections and eight chapbooks of his short fiction.

One can find most of his books online at Amazon.com, nspbooks.com, or Shocklines.com. His work has been praised by such authors as Brian Keene, David Moody, Scott Nicholson, and David Drake. When not writing, he remains a devoted zombie fan and a long time comic book collector of such titles as The Fantastic Four and The Legion of Super-Heroes.

Table of Contents

Zombies II: Inhuman

Introduction

Midpoint