Undead Tales: 15 Thrilling Zombie Stories

Undead Tales: Fifteen Thrilling Zombie Stories

A Night of the Writing Dead Anthology

Copyright © 2019 by Molten Universe Media

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by: Eve Paludan, J. Thorn, and Zach Bohannon

Cover by: Symmetric Design

Contents

Introduction

Redemption

About M.A. Robbins

The Relic

About R.J. Spears

The Pursuer

About T.W. Piperbrook

Selection Day

About Leigh Ann Beckett

The Harvest

About Philip Carroll

Zombie Prometheus

About Christopher Wills

The Boy and the Island

About Zach Bohannon

About J. Thorn

The Journey

About E.G. Michaels

Ashes

About Alex Gates

Delirium

About Daniel Willcocks

About Luke Kondor

Passenger

About Matt Verish

A Calm and Quiet Place

About Lisa Wisniewski

To Mamaw’s House We Go

About Dean M. Watts

Outbreak, Take 2

About Lori Drake

No Connection

About Brian Richards

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Introduction

In 1968, a young and ambitious film maker created an iconic cinematic masterpiece and changed the industry forever. 50 years later, a group of hardy writers converged in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to celebrate the 50th anniversary of George Romero's classic, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. These talented authors collaborated and wrote short stories inspired by the film, now compiled into a thrilling and suspense-filled anthology.

On an unseasonably warm October weekend in 2018, several dozen authors gathered in the Lawrenceville neighborhood of Pittsburgh to commemorate a landmark anniversary—the 50 th anniversary of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. George Romero’s original film and sequels set the standard for what would become the zombie genre.

These writers came from all over the country to gather for a special weekend, the goal to publish an anthology of zombie short stories in honor of the legend. We talked, ate, laughed, bowled, drank, ate some more, and even watched NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD in a movie theater 50 years after it premiered in downtown Pittsburgh—almost to the day.

For months after that celebratory weekend, the writers worked tirelessly on their short stories, and the diversity of that storytelling is present in the anthology. And now, we’re proud to present these thrilling stories to you.

We all owe a huge debt to Mr. Romero, one that cannot be fully repaid. He shaped the zombie experience for viewers and readers since the 1960s, and his spirit will always be with us. The Night of the Writing Dead authors have decided to donate all proceeds to the George A. Romero Foundation, and so we thank you for your contribution to this worthwhile cause.

And now, enjoy these 15 tales of the undead, an homage to the creatures we love and the man who brought them to our collective consciousness—or should I say, nightmares.

J. Thorn & Zach Bohannon

January 2019

For Mr. Romero.

Redemption

by M.A. Robbins

Lieutenant Lasaro Candelaria rushed down the bright tiled hallway, dodging armed officers heading the other way. Some of them wore SWAT gear and some just a standard uniform. Some were clean and pressed, and others torn and dirty, as if the officers had been in a street fight. All of the cops had the same bloodshot look in their eyes, the look he knew he had, too. Shock and determination.

He ducked into the captain’s open doorway and shook a paper in his hand. Cap, about this roster for my team.

The captain looked up and opened his mouth to speak.

Shouting came from the end of the hallway, followed by pounding footsteps down the corridor. A group of three officers sprinted past. Seconds later, gunshots echoed back.

Someone yelled, All clear.

The captain ran a hand through his steel-gray hair and sat back. I know what you’re going to ask, Candy, and the answer is ‘No.’ You have your team, so go round them up. We need you guys on the street.

A flare of heat flushed Candy’s cheeks, but he closed his eyes for a second and let it pass. Maxwell’s suspended. Hell, my investigation led to that. He should be in jail, not on the streets in uniform with his gun and badge.

The captain rose and leaned on his desk with his fists. The city’s going to hell and this is what you’re worried about? We have dead people attacking and eating the living. We need every damn officer we can get. Hell, I’d put Charles Manson out there if I had to.

At least put him on another team. Candy wiped the back of his hand across his brow. I need to be able to trust the officers on my team. He licked his lips. He’ll have a fucking gun. How the hell can I turn my back on him?

The captain shook his head. I already talked to him. Something happens to you and he’ll answer for it.

Really? That makes me feel so much better.

More officers streaked down the hall in the other direction.

The captain scowled. No more talk. You’ve got your four team members. Now gather them up and be ready to roll. I’m about to pick up this phone and let the command post know your team is ready for deployment.

Shit.

Candy stormed from the room. Looks like I may have to put a bullet in Maxwell’s head myself.

He burst into the locker room and his eyes locked on Glenn Grayson. Grayson had his shirt off, letting the world soak in his chiseled physique. He towered over almost everyone, but especially Candy.

What’s up, Candy Man? he asked.

The rugged woman next to Grayson propped her hands on her hips. What’s up is you better get your ass dressed. You know we’ve gotta wear vests, gloves, helmets, and all that shit when we go out.

Grayson made a face. I know, Brooks. Get off my ass.

Candy suppressed a grin. Before his promotion to Internal Affairs, he’d worked in the trenches with Grayson and Brooks. Sometimes they acted more like a married couple than partners on the job. But both of them were solid.

I’m going to need them.

A baby-faced officer stepped forward, his hand outstretched. Good to be working with you, Lieutenant.

Candy stared at the outstretched hand, then at the officer. This isn’t a fucking job interview—he scanned the roster for a name—Phillips. Get your shit together and be ready to go.

Phillips frowned and set himself to his task.

Still a dick, I see, said a voice that instantly ticked him off.

Candy whirled and took in Maxwell’s impassive face. He was already geared up and leaning against the wall with his thumbs stuck in either side of his vest.

Hands balled into fists, Candy approached the disgraced cop.

The door opened, and a droopy-eyed sergeant stuck his head in. Cap says you guys are up. Report to the briefing room.

You heard the man, Candy said.

Maxwell straightened, and Candy put his arm out. Except you.

As the other team members shuffled out of the locker room, Maxwell looked at the arm blocking his way but said nothing.

When the door closed, Candy locked eyes with him. Just to set things straight, I didn’t want you on this team. In fact, I raised hell to get you off.

Maxwell’s face remained calm.

Not like his outburst in the hearing.

The kid was in the shadows and pointed something at me, Maxwell said. I thought it was a gun and I fired.

Candy stepped toe-to-toe with him. Then why didn’t your partner fire?

Too slow on the draw. Going to get himself and his partner killed someday.

Candy’s jaw tightened. And the kid you shot just happened to be a minority, right? Just like the previous eight complaints the department’s got on you?

Maxwell scowled. My beat is ninety-percent minorities, you self-righteous prick. You act like the kid’s life doesn’t matter to me. He leaned against Candy’s arm and his gaze bore into Candy’s. I see that kid every night. I see the hole in his chest and his glassy eyes staring at me. He swallowed. So don’t make like it doesn’t matter to me.

He’s been practicing for his trial. His act may work on a jury, but it won’t work on me. We don’t have time to re-hash this shit, Candy said. Just follow my orders, and we’ll all live to see another day.

Maxwell gave him a jaunty salute. Aye, aye, sir.

Candy stepped back, and Maxwell stalked out the door.

A bullet in his head. That may have to happen.

Candy took a deep breath and hurried to the briefing room.

His team sat along one wall, with the captain and the bedraggled sergeant standing at the podium.

The captain looked at his watch and arched an eyebrow. Let’s proceed.

The sergeant used a wooden pointer to indicate an area of the map east of downtown. The Towers on Mercer Street. Caller in apartment 613 is a guy named Simas. He said there are shuffling and growling noises coming from his neighbor’s place.

If you find any of those creatures there, the captain said, hit them quick and hit them hard. We’ve got to keep a lid on this shitstorm.

Grayson raised a thick arm. Why don’t we just evacuate everyone, and then go in and clean out the place?

Or burn it down, Maxwell said.

Candy shot him a warning glance.

Maxwell ignored him.

Follow the protocol, the captain said. If it’s an isolated incident, neutralize the threat and call it in. We’ll send a hazmat team out for cleanup. He rested a hand on his holstered pistol. But if it has already spread, call for backup and evacuate any civilians you can.

You got it, Cap, Candy said.

The captain nodded. And make sure you all get out alive. We need all the officers we have. Any questions?

No one moved.

The captain nodded. Good luck.

Get the hell out to your transport, the sergeant said. Everyone gets a shotgun to go along with your sidearm. And remember to keep your gear on at all times. Those things can’t bite through a riot helmet, leather gloves, or a bulletproof vest.

Brooks maneuvered the van through deserted Pittsburgh streets. The midday sun hung high in the sky, but Candy didn’t see more than a half-dozen people during their drive to The Towers.

The first to exit the van when they arrived, he scoped out the area to make sure nothing waited for them. Satisfied, he craned his neck and examined the towers.

Low-rent housing—it looked better than most. No broken windows. There was graffiti, but that shit was hard to stop.

I know this place, Phillips said. It’s on my patrol.

Tell me about it, Candy said. What are we walking into?

Phillips shrugged. Standard public housing. Mostly good people, but a magnet for dealers, hookers, and gangs.

What about inside? Grayson asked.

Two elevators in the middle of the building, along with a stairway. There are two additional stairways, one on either end. The place is well-lit.

Candy peered through the dirty glass on the double doors. Looks anything but bright in there. Do the stairways have closed doors on each floor?

Phillips chewed the inside of his cheek. Only the one in the middle. They’re heavy-duty fire doors, so no one’s screwed with them. The doors on the other stairways were stolen.

Stolen? Grayson said. Why would someone steal stairway doors?

Phillips shrugged. Because they could?

Candy jacked a shell into his shotgun’s chamber. We’re going into a war zone, so be ready. You’ve got your shottie, pistol, and baton. Shooting is a last resort. Intel says loud noises attract the freaks.

Zombies, Maxwell said.

Grayson snickered, and Brooks frowned. Phillips gave a slight nod. Zombies, he said. Good word.

Candy continued, Flashlights on. Maxwell, you’ve got lead. Grayson, you’re second. I’ll be behind you. Brooks and Phillips, you have the rear.

He pulled out his flashlight and shined it through the window. The beam played across dirty linoleum and a ratty stuffed chair in the corner. A fake plant with a stalk hanging askew sat next to a pair of elevator doors.

Brooks, Phillips, Candy said. The doors.

They each held a door open, and Maxwell strode in with Grayson close behind. Candy followed, playing his beam left and right.

The front doors swished closed behind them. Hallways went to their left and right, while a solid-looking door with a sign that said Stairs lay in front of them.

This place looks dead, Brooks said.

Candy glanced at her. Her jaw was set, and grim determination filled her eyes.

If I didn’t know her better, I’d think she’s scared.

Candy nodded at the elevators. Quickest way up.

Maxwell pushed the button and stepped back.

This place used to have people coming in and out of it at all hours, Phillips said.

Maxwell coughed. Like a damn morgue.

Phillips licked his lips and rocked on the balls of his feet. Candy caught Brooks’s attention and shrugged toward Phillips. Brooks nodded.

Like a morgue in here.

The doors opened on the right-hand elevator. Maxwell kept back, but moved from the right to the left, sweeping the car with his shotgun. Clear. He stepped inside and held the door open.

When everyone had entered, Candy pressed the sixth-floor button. The doors slid shut and the car jerked before rising. A long, low squeal came from somewhere above.

That doesn’t sound good, Grayson said.

Brooks grasped his arm. It’s all good. She looked at the floor indicator. Almost there.

The car came to a shuddering stop then dropped several inches before the doors opened.

Dim light came through a crusty window opposite from the elevator. Maxwell held out a hand with three fingers to Grayson. Three, two, one.

Maxwell and Grayson leaned into the hallway and shined their lights in opposite directions.

Clear, Grayson said.

Maxwell stepped into the hallway. Here, too. He pointed to a sign on the wall. The apartment’s this way.

Candy left the elevator and peered down the corridor. Form up and let’s move. The less time in this crypt, the better.

Maxwell and Grayson moved side by side down the hall. Candy followed, glancing back to Brooks and Phillips. They stayed close on his ass.

Grayson slowed and held a hand up. There’s a turn in the hallway.

You two check it out, Candy said.

Grayson and Maxwell crept ahead and paused at the corner. Grayson peered around it and waved the others forward.

Can’t see too far down there, he said as Candy joined him.

Candy slowed his breathing. It had begun to fog his face shield. Let’s keep moving.

He checked to make sure Brooks and Phillips were still behind him, then followed Grayson and Maxwell farther down the murky hallway. They had passed three apartments and had just come to the fourth when the door on Candy’s right cracked open. He jumped back and leveled his shottie at the door. A young boy peered out through the slit.

What the hell?

Candy did his best to look calm while his heart hammered his chest.

What is he, six? Seven?

Better get back in and shut the door, son.

Are you going to put me in jail? the boy asked.

Brooks crouched down. Of course not, honey. What’s your name?

Deshaun.

The kid looked familiar, but Candy couldn’t place it. His gaze shifted to Maxwell. The disgraced cop’s mouth hung open as he listened to the boy.

That’s it. Deshaun looks like the kid Maxwell blew away. Could be his twin. I’ll never forget the peaceful look on that kid’s face as he lay on a morgue slab.

Hi, Deshaun, my name’s Yolanda, Brooks said. Is there anyone in there with you?

Deshaun nodded. Grandma. She took her pills. They put her to sleep.

Close the door, Candy said. Stay with your grandma.

Deshaun looked from Candy to Brooks.

Go ahead, sweetie, Brooks said. She smiled.

Deshaun closed the door slowly until it clicked in place.

Candy’s heartbeat settled to a more normal pace. He took a deep breath. Let’s get back to it. How far away are we?

Grayson shined his flashlight at the number on Deshaun’s door then down the hallway. Shouldn’t be too far.

This damn place is creeping me out. No sounds. No people, except the kid.

Let’s pick up the pace, Candy said.

Grayson and Maxwell led the way and, seconds later, stopped. Something moving down there, Maxwell said.

Put a light on it. Candy motioned at Maxwell. Could be another kid wandering around in the shadows.

Maxwell stared at Candy.

He’s not sure if I’m taking a dig at him or not.

Wouldn’t want to accidentally shoot an innocent person, Candy said.

Maxwell scowled and spun, shining his light down the corridor.

Grayson squinted. It’s some guy.

Candy strode to the middle of the hallway. A short, balding guy with Clark Kent glasses stood twenty yards away, waving them over as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it does.

Let’s go, Candy said. But not too fast. Stay close and keep your eyes open.

They maneuvered down the hallway to the man who had stopped waving at them and had crossed his arms while he tapped his foot in an exaggerated display of impatience.

Where have you guys been? he asked. The TV said to call police if you see or hear something strange. So I called. Damn TV didn’t say anything about having to cool my heels for an hour.

Calm down, sir, Candy said as they reached the man. A door was open behind him, and the aroma of garlic and basil wafted in the air. Candy stifled a sneeze.

Cops, the man said. Taking your sweet time.

Candy pulled a pad from his vest pocket and glanced at it. You’re Mr. Simas?

Yes, I’m Mr. Simas. He pointed at a closed door just past his. Shuffling. Moaning. I’ve heard it all. And it ain’t from sex, I can tell you that.

How do you know that? Grayson asked.

Simas rolled his eyes. If you’d ever seen that bow-wow in there you wouldn’t have to ask. She puts the ‘ug’ in ‘ugly.’

Candy clicked the mic button on his vest. Team Papa to control. We’ve made contact with the caller and are preparing to enter apartment number—he shined his light on the next door – 615.

Roger, Team Papa, came from his earbud. Advise when you’ve made contact.

Roger.

Candy tried the knob on the door. Didn’t move. He looked down. Light spilled out from under the door. Looks like someone’s home.

Shouldn’t we knock? Phillips asked.

Candy shook his head. New protocols. If there are creatures in there, we don’t want to stir them up sooner than we have to.

He stepped back. Grayson.

Grayson positioned himself a few feet from the door. Everyone ready?

Each team member had their shottie up. Crack their skulls with your gun butt, Candy said. No shooting unless absolutely necessary.

He nodded at Grayson. The officer gave the door a shattering kick. A loud crack echoed down the hallway, but the door remained intact. Grayson struck out again and the door flew inward. It separated from the top hinge and hung open.

A large man in tattered, bloody pajamas whirled toward the door. His intestines swung out from a gash in his abdomen and splattered the walls with blood.

Candy froze. He’d seen the creatures on news reports and in crime-scene photos, but this was the first he’d seen in person. The creature sprinted straight at Candy, and the lieutenant stepped back. Grayson attempted to jab it with his gun butt and missed.

Candy brought up his shottie in a defensive motion just before the creature slammed into him and drove him into the wall. The impact knocked off his riot helmet.

Another set of pounding footsteps came from the apartment.

Heads up! Phillips yelled. We’ve got another one.

Brooks yanked the pajama-clad zombie away from Candy. It fell but scrambled to its feet and sprang onto Brooks, all in one smooth motion.

A tall, thin woman with a nose that looked like it belonged on a stork exploded from the apartment door. Grayson didn’t miss this time, connecting with her temple. She stumbled to the side, then regained her balance and attacked Phillips.

Candy drove his gun butt into the back of Pajama Man’s skull. It fell off Brooks and lay still.

Stork Nose leaned down and bit into Phillips’s shoulder. He screamed and pulled back, fabric from his vest tearing off in the zombie’s bite. She snapped her jaws and tried to bite him through the helmet’s plexiglass face shield, smearing it with bloody drool.

Grayson put Stork Nose in a choke hold and pulled her from Phillips. Phillips babbled, his eyes huge. He pulled his pistol and aimed at the zombie’s head.

Oh, shit, Grayson yelled. He released the zombie and jumped away seconds before Phillips pumped his whole magazine into Stork Nose’s head. Her face collapsed, and the back of her skull exploded, spraying the hallway in bits of blood and bone.

No fucking guns, Candy yelled.

Dozens of footsteps rumbled above. Sounds like a stampede.

Someone pulled on Candy’s foot, and he slammed to the floor, the impact knocking the shottie from his grip. Pajama Man crawled to Candy’s foot, the zombie’s rotten maw open and ready to chomp.

Candy panicked and lashed out with his other foot, but the zombie trapped it in his steely grip. Candy’s heart raced.

I’m screwed.

A boom erupted, and the zombie’s head disintegrated into a red mist.

Maxwell lowered his shottie, smoke wisping from its business end. He and Brooks both reached out a hand to Candy. The lieutenant took Brooks’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. She handed him his helmet, and he put it on.

The footsteps from above grew deafening and a rumbling rolled in from the end stairway.

Fucking place is infested, Maxwell said. We need a place to hole up.

Simas rushed into his apartment and slammed the door closed. You’re on your own, he called through the door.

Asshole. Grayson slammed a fist into Simas’s door.

The kid with the grandma, Candy said. We’ll need to evacuate them.

With no time to line everyone up, he sprinted down the corridor and slid to a stop in front of Deshaun’s door. He knocked. Deshaun. Open up.

The others caught up with him, but the door remained closed.

Brooks squeezed in next to Candy. She put an ear against the door. Deshaun, honey. Please open the door. I need to talk to your grandma.

The door cracked and Candy shoved it open. Deshaun fell onto his back, and Candy picked him up. The rest of the team followed, with Maxwell closing the door behind him.

A thumping came from the door.

Are the damn things here already?

Let me in, you assholes. I pay your salaries.

Simas.

Grayson put his hand on the knob as something slammed into the door. Simas let out a high-pitched wail that cut off in a bubbly gurgle.

Pounding came from the other side of the door.

We should barricade it, Candy whispered. Grayson, Maxwell, Phillips. Get to it. Brooks, take the kid back to his grandma. See how she is.

Brooks held out her arms. Candy looked down.

Forgot I had the kid.

Deshaun wriggled. Grandma.

Candy handed him to Brooks. Here. Check out his grandma.

She nodded, put Deshaun down, and took his hand. Show me where your grandma is.

Grayson and Phillips slid the refrigerator against the door, and Maxwell pushed a china cabinet halfway across the kitchen floor. The apartment door shuddered. Phillips jumped back.

Hands and fists peppered the door.

Maxwell shoved a couch into the kitchen and against the refrigerator. More furniture inside.

You guys get that, Candy said. I’ve got a call to make.

He ran into the bathroom. Keying the mic on his vest, he said, Team Papa to Control. Need backup. Now.

Control to Papa. What’s your situation?

The zombies got Simas, our caller. We have two other civilians, and we’re trapped in an apartment on the sixth floor. The hallway’s full of zombies and they’re beating down the door.

Roger, Papa. How many creatures?

We didn’t fucking stop to count them. This place is like a wasp’s nest we just knocked down with a baseball bat. We need backup now.

Roger, Papa. Be advised we’re sending two teams to lock down the building from the outside.

Candy slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a hole. Outside? We need reinforcements inside.

We copy, Papa, but we don’t have the resources. Most have been pulled to a major incident in the Lawrenceville District.

So we’re on our own to get out of here? Is that what you’re saying?

The radio went silent.

Control, Candy said. Do you read me? Are we on our own to escape?

Roger, Papa. Be advised you have twenty minutes to evacuate the building.

Why?

Control to Papa, backup will set the building on fire in twenty minutes to destroy the creatures inside.

Shit. So much for Cap needing every man he can get.

Candy stormed from the bathroom and almost ran into Brooks, who was pushing an unconscious old lady in a wheelchair through the bedroom door.

Candy gestured to the grandma. What’s up with her?

Brooks tossed a bottle to Candy. He examined it. Oxycodone, he said.

Brooks nodded. Don’t know whether she needs it or just wants it.

Candy shrugged. Not our problem right now. He raised his voice. Everyone, huddle up.

The team gathered around him. We’ve got a problem, Candy said. Backup is coming, but there aren’t many of them, and they’re coming to eliminate the threat.

Maxwell flinched as the pounding on the door increased. "What the hell does that mean? Eliminate?"

They’re going to burn down the place in twenty minutes.

Fucking assholes. Grayson clenched and unclenched his fists.

Phillips made a small eep in the back of his throat and the blood drained from his face.

Chill, people, Brooks snapped.

Candy gave her a quick smile.

Can always count on her.

We need to look at our options, he said. The obvious one is to fight our way through the horde to the elevators.

Not the elevators, Brooks said. Remember how long it took the damn thing to get to the ground floor.

We’re not far from the west-side stairway, Grayson said.

No, Phillips cut in. No doors on that one, remember? It has to be the middle stairway.

Grayson clasped Phillips’s shoulder and nodded. Gotcha.

There have got to be close to a hundred of those things out there, Candy said, so fighting through them can’t be our first choice. Give me some alternatives, people.

Maxwell cleared his throat. We could rappel down to a lower floor and make a run for the stairs.

Rappel? Phillips asked. Do you see any rope? I don’t see any rope.

Candy smiled. It’s a solid idea. Bedsheets. Blankets. Anything we can tie together should work. We don’t have to go far, just a floor or two.

What about Grandma? Brooks asked.

Candy’s heart sank.

For every step we take forward, we’re getting pushed back two.

We’re not leaving her, he said. Our orders are to evacuate the civilians.

So, we’re screwed, Phillips said.

A loud crack broke the rhythm of the pounding, and the refrigerator slid a half inch. Dead fingers poked through the opening.

Grayson and Maxwell rushed to the barricade and put their backs against it.

We can’t hold them back for long, Grayson grunted.

Candy scowled.

What the hell do we do now?

I’ll go, Maxwell said.

Candy’s gaze swung toward the disgraced cop. What the hell do you mean, you’ll go?

Down the sheets. To the next floor.

Brooks scowled. So, you’re not only a baby killer, you’re a coward, too?

The refrigerator slid another quarter inch. Candy, Phillips, and Brooks rammed their shoulders against it, stopping it from opening farther.

Just hear me out, Maxwell said. It’s not like we have a lot of options.

No one objected. He continued, I’ll get down a floor or two and cause a diversion. It’ll draw them away from here, and then, you can make it to the stairs.

Brooks caught Candy’s eye.

She’s thinking the same thing as me: how can we trust this asshole to not just take off?

"What have