All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Read online

  ALL THINGS ZOMBIE’S

  CHRONOLOGY OF THE APOCALYPSE

  The stories within Chronology of the Apocalypse and all characters contained herein are fictional, and all similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental. All individual stories within this book have been deemed by their authors to be original works that have never before appeared in print. This text cannot be copied or duplicated without the individual author’s or the publisher’s written permission, except for use in promotional articles and advertisements.

  ©2016 ATZ Publications

  Edited By: Shannon Walters, Jeffrey Clare, and Casey Skelton

  Cover Art and Interior Art By: Jeffrey Clare

  Table of Contents

  A Word from Shawn Chesser

  Origins

  Fairy Rings

  The Librarian

  The Worst That Could Happen

  Lost and Found

  My Socially Awkward friend

  Sink or Swim

  The Monitor

  All the Pretty Birds

  Alice’s Posse

  Gone Viral…Again

  Red and yellow eyes:An Irish Zombie Journal

  Operation: Homecoming

  Life after Consequences

  Boys

  The Treehouse

  Nights in White Satin

  A Warriors challenge

  Restoration

  Welcome To The Jungle.

  To Grandmother’s House We Go.

  All Things Must End

  Acknowledgements

  A Word from Shawn Chesser

  Full disclosure: I’ve been a fan of all things zombie (see what I did there?) since July 23rd, 1980, when my mom first allowed me to rent George A. Romero’s black and white cult classic Night of The Living Dead from our local video rental place. And by “video rental place” I mean Royal Family Video, NOT a red box vending machine outside of the 7-Eleven. No, this relic from days gone by (Walking Dead reference alert) was two blocks from my childhood home and was actually a real honest-to-God brick and mortar store bursting with row upon row of shelving lined with enticingly colorful paper boxes containing VHS videotapes.

  More disclosure: Yes, unfortunately, I am that old.

  Ever since that birthday sleepover spent with a couple of close friends watching that masterpiece released in 1968 (also, coincidentally, the year I was born) while consuming more cans of Jolt Cola and handfuls of nacho cheese flavored Doritos than any twelve-year-old should, no other monster has even come close to usurping my love for Zombies.

  So it should come as no surprise that when my good friend Jeffrey Clare, esteemed founder of the All Things Zombie Facebook group, came calling with a request for me to pen this foreword (something I’ve never done, nor ever fathomed being asked to do) I immediately answered with a resounding “Hell yes!”

  On to the nuts and bolts of Chronology of the Apocalypse. This ATZ Publications anthology is jam-packed with over xx stories penned by both new and established authors alike. These tales of survival are told from many disparate points of view. From average everyday folks surviving the scourge of Zs by any means necessary to heavily armed super soldiers engineered by scientists to fight the dead toe-to-toe and tooth-and-nail, you, the reader, are about to experience a visceral and oftentimes poignant look into the zombie apocalypse as seen through their eyes.

  There are stories told in the first person and some in the third. A few are recounted in the journal entries of their protagonist. One, Red and Yellow Eyes. A Zombie Journal, by Christopher Mahood, offers a sobering fly-on-the-wall look at a man’s lonely struggle to survive the first few weeks of a zombie outbreak.

  All Things Must End by Aria Michaels depicts one woman’s harrowing train-ride west to find a mythical place of sanctuary known as Eden.

  Another well-thought-out yarn with memorable characters, Alice’s Journey, penned by Michael Peirce, depicts New Georgia’s rise from the ashes of the zombie-plagued old world.

  In Boys, Chris Philbrook weaves a tale of two brothers who are at once haunted by the losses of their past and encouraged by the possibility there may be a place of sanctuary in a modern-day Russia overrun by zombies.

  Justin Dunne’s My Socially Awkward Friend is the very humorous account of two best friends whose cross-country moving trip is suddenly interrupted by the zombie apocalypse.

  Lastly, I must mention Operation: Homecoming. This somber requiem takes place on the International Space Station. Author William Bebb details one determined astronaut’s solitary fight for survival, treating the reader to a haunting—seemingly time-lapsed in my mind—vision of the zombie apocalypse as it unfolds 213 miles below the ceaselessly orbiting platform Ming Yeow is apparently destined to die aboard.

  One particular passage in Bebb’s story depicting the lights on Earth extinguishing slowly over a period of months made me think of lauded 20th Century poet T.S. Eliot’s famous piece The Hollow Men in which he predicts the world ending not with the proverbial “bang” but with an anticlimactic “whimper.”

  Every story within the Chronology of the Apocalypse is truly good stuff in my humble opinion.

  So here we are now, thirty-five years after me receiving that life-changing introduction to my favorite beasties—the last six in which I’ve been spinning zompoc survival yarns of my own starring the type of slow-moving, mindless Zs I think George himself would appreciate—and I’ve come to one happy conclusion: zombie tales, no matter the medium, are here to stay.

  So grab a stump, block off some time, and dive into Chronology of the Apocalypse! I’m certain you’re going to find the many different takes on the zompoc to your liking.

  I know I did!

  Shawn Chesser, author of the bestselling Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse series.

  "It was the hubris of each generation to think this anew, to think that their time was special, that all things would come to an end with them."

  ~Hugh Howey

  Dear reader,

  This collection of stories is not told from one universe, nor is it told from one perspective. It is a catalogue of stories that progress through time; each existing in its singularity, telling tales of moments within the zombie apocalypse. And so it begins...

  JC, SW, & CS

  Origins

  By A.J. Brown

  “Jeanette, do you see this?” Hank sat in his recliner, an empty beer can on the floor next to it. He sat up, leaned a little closer to the television and watched the screen intently.

  “See what, Honey?”

  “The television. Something’s going on up in Charlotte.”

  “What is it?”

  By then Jeanette was out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a green and red towel, one from Christmas that never got put away with the others. She sat on the edge of the recliner. Hank’s hand went to her knee, but he never looked away from the screen. On it was a reporter, not young and not old, but his hair graying and his eyes holding bags beneath them. There was something else about his eyes: they held fear in them. True fear.

  Hank pressed the volume button on the remote. The reporter spoke in out of breath sentences, his voice shaking.

  …I repeat, the Carolinas Medical Center has been quarantined, due to an outbreak of a deadly virus. More than thirty people have died of this contagion in the past thirty-six hours and over sixty others have been infected…

  The news anchor paused, put his hand to his ear as if he had an itch. He nodded, looked away from the cameras. Though most people probably missed the little hand gesture, Hank didn’t.

  “What was that?” Hank asked.

  “What was what?�
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  “He gestured with his hands.”

  “I didn’t see that.”

  “It was there. I’m telling you. He made a little motion with his hands, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next.”

  Jeanette stood, rubbed her hands in the dish towel again. Hank saw this movement and he knew it well. She was nervous, maybe even scared. It was something she didn’t show very often, but when she did it was obvious. “It was probably nothing, Hank.” She went back to the kitchen, and once there, called back to him. “Don’t forget to pick up the beer can before you get up, okay?”

  He heard her, but the words didn’t get too far. Hank was intent on the news anchor, on his nervousness and the way he continued to look off screen, as if the cameras had stopped rolling and this wasn’t a live newscast. The news anchor turned back to the camera, visibly shaken. His eyes were wider than they had been. He licked his lips and coughed into one hand.

  Ummm…this just in…Ummm…are you sure?

  He was looking back off the set, shaking his head in quick, jerky motions. He licked his lips again, then wiped them with the back of his long-sleeved shirt. Hank was certain the anchor had probably never looked so unsure of himself in front of a camera before. He leaned in a little more, as if doing so would get the anchor’s attention and he would report the news, for crying out loud.

  Again, the reporter turned to the cameras. His brows were creased just above his nose; his forehead wrinkled, and was that a tremor in his bottom lip?

  Yes, it was, Hank thought. He’s terrified.

  …This just in. If you are in the Charlotte area, stay inside. We have confirmed reports that several people left the Carolinas Medical Center before the quarantine was announced. These people could be infected and highly contagious…

  The ringing of his cell startled Hank enough to let out a couple of cuss words.

  “Hank, watch your tongue,” Jeanette called from the kitchen.

  “Sorry, Babe,” he said absently, thankful Bobby was already in bed, and pulled his cell from his back pocket. He looked at the name on the screen and clicked the green talk button.

  “Hey, Lee. What’s—“

  “Hank, listen to me.”

  Red flags shot up in his mind, warning signs that seemed to wail like sirens. “Lee, what’s wrong?”

  “Just be quiet, Hank. Just be quiet for a minute and listen, okay?”

  “Okay, man. Okay. I’m listening.”

  “I need you to get Bobby and Jeanette and get them ready to get out of here. Okay?”

  “Lee, what’s going on?”

  “Just do that, will you, little brother?”

  Hank stood, and ran a hand through his hair. “Lee, what’s going on, man?”

  “There’s something going on in Charlotte and its spreading man. It’s spreading fast.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the news reports?”

  “What news reports?”

  “Seriously, Lee? It’s all over the news. Turn on the T.V., man.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Hank was frowning. The news anchor had lost all importance. Lee’s voice sounded strange, it sounded like he was intentionally not telling him something.

  “Hank…”

  “Lee, what’s going on, and don’t B.S. me.”

  “Rick’s dead, Hank. He’s dead and so is his boy and so is Nancy. They’re all dead, Hank.”

  The world shrunk. The walls seemed to move inward, threatening to close in all around him. His skin prickled with goose bumps and the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. Hank had been pacing back and forth in the living room, from his recliner to the front door and back again. He stopped in the center of the room at the mention of Rick’s death. He didn’t really hear the rest of what Lee said, just that Rick was dead. What more was there to say? He swallowed hard and his hand went back through his short hair.

  “How?” Did he really speak? Was that really his voice that came from his mouth, the sound of something so small it was almost a whisper? He took a deep breath, one that hurt his chest. Or was that the pain of losing a brother, one that he thought they had lost a long time ago; one that had disowned the family years before? He turned around, his eyes on the floor, not seeing the gray carpet, the white socks covering his feet, the cuffs of his blue jeans crumpled around his ankles, one of Bobby’s Hot Wheels cars beneath the coffee table. His eyes were cool with tears threatening to fall.

  Hank glanced up. Jeanette stood in the door between the kitchen and living room. The towel was in her hands. Her head was cocked to one side, her eyes somehow appearing as if they were frowning right along with her lips.

  What is it, Hank? She mouthed.

  Hank shook his head and raised a hand in a ‘hold on’ gesture and turned away from her. He walked to the door, opened it and stepped outside. He sat on the porch, his feet on the front steps, knees as high as his chest, his elbows on them.

  “Hank, he just…he got sick…well…it wasn’t him. It was his son…he got sick and they took him to the hospital and…he just…he didn’t make it and…”

  “Rick lives in Charlotte, Lee.”

  Silence followed. For several seconds it was the worst sound Hank Walker had ever heard. The words that followed made the silence seem golden.

  “Yeah. I know, Hank, but…but whatever the news has said, they haven’t told the whole truth, man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The door opened behind him. He could feel Jeanette’s worried eyes on him. He could almost see her wringing her hands in that green and red Christmas towel. In his mind he saw himself stand and grab the towel from her and throw it into the yard where it fluttered to the ground not fifteen feet away. But he would never do that, even if her wringing hands drove him to madness. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to see nothing but darkness. And then Lee spoke again. Urgent, almost desperate, and somehow the words he spoke felt true, though they had to be a lie.

  “Hank, people aren’t just dying. They’re getting up and…and Nancy…she died, you see, and she just…she just got up and started walking around and Wilson…he bit one of the docs, but he had been dead just a couple of minutes before and…Hank, just get your family ready. I’m on my way home and—“

  “Are you saying Nancy died and…and got back up as if she were okay?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. She died and she got back up, but…but…but she wasn’t okay, Lee. She was still dead and…”

  “She was dead? Seriously, man?” Hank didn’t believe it. It was a prank, and a good one. But that didn’t explain the news anchor on the television or what he reported.

  “How do you know this, Lee? How do you know any of this?”

  Again silence filled the gap between them.

  “I was there, man. I went to visit Rick and all of this crap went down and—“

  He felt the heat in his face and he knew the back of his neck was probably red with anger. “Why were you visiting him, Lee?”

  “Hank, listen. I know he did some bad things, but he wasn’t the same guy who left home with a drug habit and a pocket full of your money.”

  “There’s more to it than that, Lee, and you know it.”

  “Hank, really? Are we going to argue about this right now? People are dying and getting up as if they just took a damn nap and are waking to a bad hunger fit. The dead are attacking the living and killing them. Don’t you understand? This is an epidemic that has probably already spread across the world. Who knows how many people came in contact with Rick and his family before Wilson started showing symptoms? And who knows how many people were around them after he got sick. Man, we need to get out of town, head to Table Rock and board ourselves in before it’s too late.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  As a heart attack? You left off ‘and twice as deadly’.

  “Does Pop know? What about Jake? What about your family?”
/>   “I called Jessica and she’s getting the boys ready to go. Mike is going to meet us over at our place. You get Jeanette and Bobby and…”

  “And what, Lee? If this thing spreads as fast as you say it does, then where can we go that it won’t catch up to us?”

  “Hank,” Jeanette said from behind. “What’s going on?”

  He turned to his wife, looked into those scared blue eyes. He shook his head and put up his index finger. Again, ‘Hold on, Babe.’

  “I don’t know, but Table Rock sounds as good as any place, don’t you think? Pick up Jake and Pop and just get the hell out of here, man. We’ll go to the cabin. Shut ourselves in for a while until this crap blows over.”

  Hank sat silent, the cell to his ear, his wife behind him, no doubt her worried eyes boring a hole in the back of his head and her nervous hands wringing the Christmas towel.

  “Hank?”

  “I’m here, Lee.”

  “Tell me you’re coming with us.”

  A brief pause and Hank’s head dipped slightly as if he were bowing. “How soon before you can get here?”

  “An hour, tops.”

  “Okay, brother.”

  Hank pushed the END button and let out a long, deep sigh, one that seemed to take every ounce of energy with it.

  “Hank?”

  He didn’t respond. He looked up into the darkness of the night, knowing that a hundred or so miles away, Charlotte was dying, and if he believed Lee, the dead weren’t really dead.

  “Hank, what’s going on?”

  He didn’t look from the darkness of their little street. “Rick’s dead. So is his wife and son.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jeanette stepped onto the first stair and lowered herself beside him. She put her arms around him, kissed his cheek and lay her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Honey.”

  He took another deep breath, his tears tugging harder against the corners of his eyes. “That isn’t the worst of it. If you believe what Lee said, they died and woke up and…and started killing people.”