The Horror Squad: Road Warriors anthology

The Horror Squad

Road Warriors anthology

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

The Horror Squad: Road Warriors. Copyright © 2017 by TJ Weeks. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, email authortjweeks@gmail.com

Weeks, TJ

The Horror Squad: Road Warriors/TJ Weeks. - 1st ed.

Title ID:  7696225

ISBN-13:  978-1978325722  

First Edition: October 2017

Acknowledgments

A special thank you to all the betas, editors and authors that took place in this anthology.

Jay Wilburn

Mother May I

SHE WALKED down the center of the street to avoid the debris even though it exposed her to view from any of the monsters, living or undead, who might also be hunting these streets for food. She was old even by pre-apocalyptic standards. After the zombies chewed their way through retirement homes and punk millennials on their cellphones, she might have been the oldest woman left in the world – maybe the oldest there would ever be again even if she got her bones gnawed by the hungry dead this very afternoon.

Her mother lived to be ninety-nine before she passed. Her grandmother had lived to be a hundred-and-four and story was her great grandmother had surpassed that. She wasn’t far behind even with the zombies. No need to clamor over a trashy sidewalk and break a hip now.

She had the kids to duck in and out of the buildings and leap spry over clutter on the walks. Young kids needed exercise after all. And they all needed food, medicine, clothes, weapons, and whatever else they could scavenge.

Holly darted out of a shop to the left. Mother, look what I found!

Mother’s heart leapt painfully in her chest. That wasn’t something she thought she could take too many times in a day. Her hardening arteries weren’t going to absorb those impacts much longer. No doctor to visit for tune-ups anymore.

Holly’s voice echoed off the buildings around them like a threat and an invitation at the same time. Her little pink shoes with the flashing lights on them crunched on glass outside the busted shop window. She kicked a beer can and it clattered out into the street in front of the four-year-old almost to where Mother’s cane rested.

Holly was the youngest and therefore the toughest to convince to be quiet. Mother doubted the girl would remember what the world was like before zombies, if she lived long enough to remember anything at all.

Her hair needed to be washed and combed before it was too knotted to do anything with but cut off and start over. Mother couldn’t remember if there was any shampoo left from the last run.

Run, she thought. Mother almost laughed at that. Her heart couldn’t take a lot of unnecessary laughing either, but the idea of her running. She wouldn’t run if something was chasing her – literally.

Holly held out a Children’s Bible with the cover upside down for Mother to see. Look. I found one.

Mother adjusted her apron with her carry items in the pockets. The weight made the strings dig into the back of her neck, but a woman had to carry things when she went out whether there was an apocalypse on or not. Then, Holly was always loading up on books and toys too.

Holly already had two other picture Bibles along with a number of other books back at their place. You couldn’t eat a Bible no matter how many times you read the story about the Bread of Life with a pastel Jesus splitting fishes and loaves on the color plate on the facing page. Still, Mother encouraged the kids to get books to read.

That’s a fine one, Holly. Let me help you wrestle it into your pack.

Holly held mother’s cane without being asked. It stood taller than her matted scalp. The old woman’s hands shook as she grasped the puffy cover of the Bible and unzipped Holly’s pink backpack on the girl’s shoulders. She had to wiggle the corners of the book in before zipping it back. As usual, the book took up most of the space in Holly’s pack.

You can read it to me later.

Sure. Mother’s eyes didn’t do well with the print even with her glasses, but she knew these stories well enough to lie her way through them. Holly didn’t seem to notice or care that the tellings weren’t exactly the same each time.

Mother retrieved her cane. Perfect fit. See if you can find any shampoo bottles too, Baby Girl.

I’m not a baby anymore. I’m helping just like the big kids.

You sure are, Baby Girl. And what do you do if you see anyone? No matter if they talk or not.

Holly smiled and cut her eyes from side to side as if looking to see if her parents were watching. I run like Hell!

Her voice echoed again as if she were giving a war cry. She ran down the street ahead of Mother.

Holly! It was the old woman’s voice echoing now. Forgetting something?

She came to a halt in the street. Sorry. Mother, may I?

Yes, you may.

Holly ducked into the broken front door of a townhouse without a sign of hesitation or caution.

If she did see her parents at this point, Mother shook her head, she better know to run like Hell. They would not be grabbing her to tuck her in. That much is for damn sure.

Holly was tough, even and especially for a four-year-old. Only way a kid that young could survive a world like this. It was Holly who named her Mother and the other kids had picked up on it and wouldn’t drop it again.

Peter stepped out of an alley a couple doors past where Holly had vanished. Mother set to walking, but Peter trotted toward her, probably figuring his nine-year-old legs could do more with the distance than her ancient ones.

He was the oldest, if Mother herself weren’t counted, and had tried to call her Old Mother for a while before finally letting it go.

His black backpack already looked heavy with spoils. Heard Holly from two blocks over.

Yeah, everyone hears Holly. You find some good shopping there, Peter?

He smiled with half his mouth and then shrugged. I don’t know. Some. Mostly cans of beans and a few other bottles of stuff. Nothing great yet.

Beans cook up nice and fill the belly.

He rolled his eyes with all the conviction of someone who might live long enough to be a teenager maybe. How many damn beans can we eat?

As many as we can find, I imagine. Without letting go of the top of her cane, Mother pointed one bony finger at his chest. Beats eating air and sure beats getting eaten which mostly covers all our other options.

I’m still going to look for crackers and chips. Maybe some candy too.

Mother’s wrinkles deepened as she smiled. Knock yourself out, Kid. If you can find any that hasn’t melted or hasn’t been chewed through by rats, you deserve it. I won’t even make you share it with the others.

He frowned and turned away. I’ll share it.

Good for you, Boy, good on you.

Peter took a few steps away. I’m going to be looking for more fresh meat too. We’ve been eating only cans for a while.

I’m game for that plan, My Boy, but don’t forget sometimes fresh meat fights back same as we do.

I know. He stopped and crouched before drawing his knife off his hip.

Mother’s heart did a painful flip again. Her hearing and eyes weren’t as keen as the little ones, but she scanned the street all around her for sign of whatever had spooked Peter.

The creature lumbered out from a Title Loan outfit on the next corner. Mother looked back to the doorway where Holly had gone looking for shampoo and probably a couple extra Bibles too. If the neighborhood started getting thick with the dead, they’d have to pull up stakes and scavenge elsewhere. Peter would need to go collect Holly while Mother rounded up the others.

It appeared to just be the one, but it always started with just one, now didn’t it?

The clothing hung off the thing in shreds and rags. The meat around the ribs waved in rotten strings as well with the uneven gate of the monster’s walk. Its shriveled manhood hung in plain sight like a piece of jerky. Something the kids shouldn’t be seeing, but Mother couldn’t help the fact that the walking corpses had no decency nor any end to their appetites.

The zombie’s bones ground together like nails on a chalkboard where the cartilage had turned brittle around its decaying joints. The tone of the grinding noise made her skin crawl.

She limped forward on her cane ahead of Peter. You go on and keep working now. I can take care of this one myself.

Peter walked up beside her and then outpaced her. Let me take care of it. Mother, may I?

He winked at her with his half-smile painted over his face. Now she rolled her eyes at him even though she hadn’t been a teenager since before his mother and maybe before his grandmother were born. Yes, you may, Smartie.

Peter ran ahead of her. The creature reached for the boy with bone showing through split flesh on the zombie’s fingers and palms. Peter dodged and danced around behind it. The undead man turned, but Peter skipped about out of the monster’s sight.

Always playing, she said under her breath. That kind of silly bullshit is going to get you good and bit one day, Boy. Then what?

The zombie stopped in mid turn and shifted its head from side to side. It’s unfocused eyes lighted on Mother again. She drew close enough to it that she could see one of its eyes was nearly pure white. The other had a pupil blown out black nearly to the edges of its eyeball. Both dead eyes