Zombiehole

Copyright © 2014 by Julian Rhys Lightning.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 01/25/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-800-455-039

www.xlibris.com.au

Orders@xlibris.com.au

529531

CONTENTS

Part 1-Bitten

Part 2-Bleeding

Part 3-Infected

Part 4-Dying

Part 5-Darkness

Part 6-Rotting

Part 7-Twitching

Part 8-Walking

Part 9-Foaming

Part 10-Biting

PART 1

Bitten

Travelling down the highway, the group moved forward, along a deserted road more brown than black with dried blood. The mini-vans, four-wheel drives and other automobiles were all long since abandoned. Well some weren’t, there were still drivers who were strapped in firmly with their seatbelts fastened and their innards squished into the front of their smashed-in metal coffins. The passing billboards advertised things like schools with pictures of children who were in all likelihood dead and the latest thirty-one year old movie ‘Apoco-town’, the newest disaster film thriller. One can imagine the reviews not being so great; who wants to see a big CGI enhanced zombie flick when there is a perfectly good one happening just outside.

The fifteen individuals walked at a below than average speed stroll. It was somewhat of a natural instinct, just as it was with the living, to be a part of a group. It made you feel safe in the dark, scary world around you. Having friends and people you can trust just in arms distance was all you needed to feel secure. And these creatures knew, as a sixth sense, that as a unit, the dead are strong.

From the far left, two of the corpses talked. The little girl thought carefully about her answer. Brains, the smallest of the group shouted. She waited for a response, hoping she was correct, her little smile curved by both eagerness, and her jaw starting to come loose again.

Her comrade sighed, Yes, you finally got it. She pumped the air in triumph and knocked her fist against her jaw. Pup then realised it had come out again and put it back in place. Many of her bones were prone to come out of place unprovoked, but her jawbone was by far the most occurring. It’s what came from being the oldest. The eight year old had been walking for over twenty years, and she out-aged nearly everyone in their clan by almost a decade. It was a miracle she had held up this long, her pink dress now brown with travel and her hair was matted with one pigtail on her left.

You know, it’s embarrassing that it took you three guesses, the older less rotted thing said judging her. I know we haven’t seen a living human in a while, but still. He was right though, the two of them had been wandering aimlessly for over three years now without coming across a single living human.

Shut up Delive. You think you’re so smart. You ask anyone else and see what they say. He had gotten his name from the front of his shirt, which had the logo cut off to say ‘Delive.’ There were also other letters and words, along with the green putrid bite-mark that caused his infection, but the shorten word on his chest seemed to be the name most befitting to him.

Since he and his type did not contain any memory of their life before death, they had decide on their own names. This usually came from a number of factors like what they were wearing at the time of their demise; any definitive damages they have occurred; or any other interesting features about that individual. These things were called ‘Trait names’.

Taking her advice, Delive turned back to the friend behind them. Due to a ripped open foot, Glassface was always at the back of the hoard, and at a slightly slower walking pace than the others. About twice a day, the group would have either to wait for him to catch up, or he would have to run up after them, risking further injuries.

Hey, can you help us out, Delive asked.

Glassface lifted his shattered head up to his pal acknowledging him. His face had several large shards of glass sticking out from it at various angles, along with a few smaller pieces, embedded into his face like freckles. In artistic terms, he looked like a young portrait of Rembrandt mixed with the work of Picasso. Whenever asked how it happened, he claims that he sustained the disfigurement while he was alive and doesn’t remember how it occurred; but everyone believed that to be a lie.

Sure, I would be delighted to. I’m just walking with you guys so, you know, I might as well. He responded with a nervous laugh.

Okay. What body part of a human has control?

There was a moment of thought, wondering if it was a trick question. The umm, brain. Why?

Delive twisted back. See Pup, It took him three seconds and no wrong guesses. We can ask someone else if you want. She stuck her half missing tongue out at him and he laughed lightly.

The group made a left at an over turned bus, putting the two at the front with Snoteater and Hangeye, who were often referred to as the generals of the group. Well, at least behind their backs anyway. Starboard, the self-appointed leader of the horde was walking a car’s length in front of everyone else, he was always closely followed by the duo. Probably one of the cleverest named among them, the frontrunner wore a captain’s jacket and was missing his left arm.

Delive politely greeted the acquaintances, neither of which returned the courtesy. Hangeye was uncomfortable around anyone besides Starboard since the pair walked past the horde and joined nearly a thousand days ago. They both also appeared to be the youngest in death age of a believed five years or less.

Her face was the only one more damaged than Glassface’s, and was one of the most hideous things Delive had ever witnessed. Starboard said he met Hangeye on the same day of his transformation into the new world, as she was having her face stomped in with some human’s foot. After saving her, he was shocked to see that despite her open skull and cheekbone protruding awkwardly out her ear, she was still moving. The dislodged eye hung down to just below her lip and was dangling by a small tendon leading back to her black, empty socket, this was how she got her name.

Snoteater however, had a less impolite reason for ignoring Delive. Due to his throat having dried out since long before he first joined the group, he was unable to talk. This was thanks to his nose being ripped off and all the nasal mucus leaking down from the A shaped hole in his face and into his mouth.

Although, it probably wouldn’t have hurt his face hole to wave. But that would ruin the whole ‘badass’ vibe he had going. Despite his extremely slender body and the high class suit his former self wore before death, Snoteater had acquired the image of the toughest in the horde. When Starboard came by and took control of the group of members not seeking leadership, the nose-less man took to his side without discussion; which really isn’t much of a statement when referring to a mute.

They moved forwards to nowhere. Delive and Pup continuing their random discussion of nothing, talking further about useful and useless body parts. Then they heard the sound of Glassface rushing up to them. It was a painful thing to hear, the pus dropping out in clots and the bones cracking made everyone uneasy. Delive fell back away from Pup so the injured follower didn’t have to run as far. Why did you ask? Glassface inquired. Have you heard different, or do suspect something else, or…

No. Pup and I were just talking about bodies, and I tested her to see how much she knew.

Wow, cool. So what did she say?

First thing she said was the heart. The associate chuckled at the absurdity. The second thing she said was the stomach.

The pair’s laughter echoed around the group. Even some of the voice impaired joined in. Not with actually laughter though, more like dry croaks. One, however did not find it funny, and decided to submit her own personal reasoning. That sounds right to me.

Delive turned his head to see Piercing walking beside him. She had been named for the multitude of piercings on her face and body. Originally she had been called Punkrock, as that was the word on the back of her tight jeans, but that name did not carry on when she started walking with this horde over a year ago and was changed.

We move to eat, she continued. The reason we walk non-stop across this land is because of the hope that we might find a living thing for us to devour. We endure the pain of moving so we can put off the agony of hunger. Are our stomachs not what control us? From the time they first met, she always had a second opinion to everything Delive had to say. Sometimes the situation would flip when he heard something that didn’t sound right to him, but he’d insist that she started it. He found it quite annoying and unfortunate that she hadn’t bitten off her tongue while debating him.

The others thought about what she had to say. Glassface, who was stuck between the two, looked backed to Delive, waiting for his rebuttal. That is why we move, but it is not how. Know the question before you give an answer. He counteracted.

Then how do we walk? Our legs move, our arms move, our mouths never stop moving, and our stomachs continue to crave flesh. If our hearts are dead, and the juices in the body are long expired, that means our brains should be completely dead. And if our brains are dead, that only leaves the next most active part of our bodies, the stomach, to be in charge.

Delive rubbed his dry, dirty eyes in astonishment of her flawed lucidity. Then what about your friend? He grilled, referring to Screwball, the coffee toned, small giant next to her. He was the biggest of the hoard with no need to measure for certainty. If under any different circumstance, this would have put him in charge. However, he had an ailment which left him half brain dead. An ailment which took the form of a screwdriver inserted into the top of his skinless skull.

Stomach, brains. Screwball muttered, not liking it when he is referred to. Piercing patted him on the lower back and told him to relax. For reasons unknown, he had attached himself to her and hardly ever left her side.

That screwdriver has left him completely unable to say anything other than human body parts. A human attacked him there because they knew that if you attack the brain you kill the body. Screwball is an odd case of it not hitting the brain right, but a decapitated head can still-’

He stopped abrupty. This debate wasn’t important to him anymore. Nothing was. The only thing important to him was the man jogging along the dirt road in the distance. Saliva foamed from his mouth.

Delive pushed pass his now meaningless friends and ran towards the first human he had seen in years. Glassface fell back, hitting the ground with a thud. What the hell! Piercing yelled at him as he bolted by her, What is wrong with- She saw why the sudden change and ran after him, followed closely by the rest of the hoard.

From there it became a race. Pup fell behind along with Snoteater, Constable, and the rest. Piercing wasn’t able to keep up with Screwball, who was fast approaching on Delive. Hangeye, Starboard, and Ashbeard emerged from the group like winning race dogs. Glassface was still trying to get up from being pushed over. The leading five set a considerable distance from the rest.

Delive knew he couldn’t keep up with Starboard or Hangeye; both were notorious for their speed. At the very least he could try to keep up with Screwball and Ashbeard. The five moved at a ferocious speed across the field and onto a side road off the highway. Passing a rusty sedan with a dead family of four and a half inside, one of the charging contenders, in a moment of pure excitement, let out an alarming roar of glee.

The human turned. Appearing to be middle aged, the overweight man stupidly stopped to look back at his upcoming doom. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, and his body seemed tender and pre-softened for his eater’s pleasure. Wearing only his dirty, worn-out boxers, he was obviously unarmed and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to resume running. This was too good to be true.

Then with haste, he took off in a new direction, opposite to his chasers. Starboard pushed past his friends, froth dripping from his dehydrated lips, and once again took a considerable lead over the others. His speed came from three things; his age, his body, and his determination to be the best. He would give up his one arm if it made the others think he was strong.

The pursuit lead them in front of a long since abandoned car yard. Using the force of his beaten body to break through the rusted gate, the man misjudged its stability and fell to the ground along with the fence. The plump, enfeebled man glanced back in terror, dreading what was to transpire next. Griping the holes of the entrance, he screamed for his life.

Starboard descended on him, and sank his teeth into the side of the human’s head. Squealing in pain, the man pushed the monster back. With a bare hand, he sent the one armed monster onto its posterior with a chunk of his chubby face in its mouth. He clenched his missing piece with both hands, screaming in agony as fresh, delicious blood squirted from between his fingers. And without even a moment for him to get back on his feet, the others caught up.

The four plunged down atop him, clinging to his flesh like hungry puppies wanting milk from their mummy. Their assorted hands tore his torso open, revealing a banquet of treats. Screwball didn’t like the hustling movement next to his undead brothers; so he instead pulled off an arm for himself and started devouring it like an oversized drumstick. Starboard took his place near moments later, and sampled some of the rump. Hangeye started sucking the rib bones, and later used them to pick every one of the minuscule remains out of her crooked teeth. It took the rest of the hoard less than two minutes to catch up, but there wasn’t any left overs waiting for them. Ashbeard even resorted to licking the wet gate for the blood spills.

Delive stood up and looked at the group of starving eyes. His mouth had gotten the better of him; the first human any of them had seen in years and only five of them got to eat. Why didn’t he save some, If not for the others, then for himself later on when the pain of hunger was truly unbearable? This was a question he often asked himself on the worse days. The meat and blood eventually goes bad, about several hours after death. But that isn’t why they are incapable of saving. It’s because when they are starving, there is no control. Any sight, smell, noise, or even intuition of food can turn the hungriest being into a mindless monster with no concern for anything other than consumption.

He gathered around the other eaters in silence, feeling guilty for their fortune. Screwball went back over to Piercing’s side, unable to look at her. "Well, first of all I would like to say sorry to you all not being able