*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2077089-Zombie-short-stories
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Dark · #2077089
Collection of zombie horror
The day started as monotonous as the 9490 others I had lived through but half way through, that was all going to change… Walking home from school I took a short cut through an alley, the alley smelled like the slaughter house we visited in a fourth grade field trip, I wanted to run through the alley because I was a little scared to be honest, but I told myself to be brave so I walked with a steady determined pace. I almost didn't see the homeless woman until I was on top of her. I stopped when I saw her. Her hair was matted with dried blood from a scalp wound I was unable to see. Her left hand was missing several fingers, the wounds were ragged and inflamed, and as I stared I could see maggots writhing about feasting on the remains of her hand. With a low moan she dragged herself towards me using her good hand I watched in horror as her nails cracked and broke on the cement. She was reaching for me with her mangled left hand. I was frozen in shock, just staring I knew I had to do something but I didn't know what. Should I run for help or should I stay with her and call for an ambulance. Finally I stepped forward to stop her from clawing her way towards me. As I kneeled down beside her she grabbed me with strength that her slight frame shouldn't posses. She dragged me down till our faces were almost touching and in terror I thought SHE IS GONNA TRY AND KISS ME! Her breath slammed into my face with the heat of a furnace and the smell of rot. She then lunged forward and bit off the end of my nose. That was the day the world ended.


Work was so long today I can barely contain my joy as I slide the key into the lock. With a sigh I set my briefcase and my oversized purse on the table in the entry way. I hear nothing from the dog as I come in, which is rather strange. That stupid thing never shuts up. Frank's car is outside, but the house is silent. Maybe he is walking that wretched Chihuahua. If he left with the dog, then why are the lights on? Frank is very obsessive. He keeps everything so neat; it can drive a girl like me crazy. He is always getting on to me about stuff that seems minuscule. Stuff that I think should be beneath my notice, like counting the steps every time he goes up or down them, yes there are thirteen steps dear, we get it. As I head through the living room, I see that one of the chairs at the kitchen table is knocked over, and something has smashed a large hole in the sliding glass door. Seeing some blood on the glass, worry turns to terror. Frank is kind of klutzy but this would be extreme. What could have possibly caused all this? Could there be someone in the house with me? Please God let Frank be alright. I hear something from upstairs that sounds like dry branches being broken. Rushing up the stairs, I pause at the balcony. With my back against the railing I can see all the way down the hall to Frank's and my room. One blood-smeared print is slapped against the door's paint, and the door is slightly open. I begin walking slowly; each step forward is like pulling teeth. I stop just outside the door. If the intruder was tough enough to hurt Frank, what could I possibly do against them? Trying to regain some composure I decide to dial 911. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely flip open the stupid phone Frank bought me. "911 what's yo-"I interrupt her with a loud sob and begin to stutter. Before I can finish a single sentence, something slams into the wall next to our door with enough force to make the painting directly behind me fall. I spin so quickly towards the door that the cell phone flies out of my hands cracking as it hits the door, but I can still hear the operator talking to me, asking me what's wrong. I drop to my knees, scrambling for the phone and as my fingers find it our bedroom door crashes open, knocking me into the wall, pinning me between the door and the wall for a moment. Despite all this I manage to hold onto my phone. I scurry backwards on all fours, still facing the door way. Getting to my knees, I glance up through my damp hair, and due to my panic the only thing I can focus on at first is very pretty set of blue eyes. At least they would have been pretty if the rest of his face was still there. As my focus drifts to the rest of his face I see the skin has been torn off in strips. Chunks of the muscle under his right eye are missing. He stands still panting heavily, while I stare in horror at him. With each pant, a nasty mist settles on his gore soaked shirt. I think I see blood stained teeth through the hole in his cheek. As I rise, he lurches forward with a wet groan. For every step forward he takes, I take two back. Soon my back is against the railing and with a shambling charge his hands grasp my shoulders. He lunges forward, his mouth snapping shut so hard that his teeth splinter and crack; spit and blood splatter on my cheek. Leaning back so my head is out of his reach, I peer around him hoping to see Frank coming to my aid, only to see someone clawing up the hall, it appears to be a homeless woman crawling towards us. Her face is splattered with blood and in the blood I see tufts of brown fur, the same brown as that damn dog. I push against him with all of my strength, the railing begins to creak. With a scream of protest the wood gives way sending us both tumbling downward. I see the ceiling twice before landing head first on the unforgiving tile. Being unable to move anything other than my head, I "decide" to just lie here. I twist my head back and forth as quickly as I can, searching for my attacker. Just as I see the foot of the man who attacked me it's drawn out of my sight, twitching like he is damaged but still functional. I begin to try and thrash but nothing below the neck moves. I feel cold. Besides the obvious stench of blood, I can smell that in addition to losing control of my limbs I have lost control of something else. I look towards the foot of the stairs and right into the eyes of the woman. The dog's fur matted all over her face makes me gag. Stumbling slowly behind her is Frank. His head has been left completely alone. But like some kind of demented jump roper, he drags a twisted, red and brown, slime covered length of his own intestines behind him. It makes a wet smacking sound as it strikes each step. Unable to turn away I see that several of the more important organs, like his liver, have been completely torn out. Frank's mouth doesn't move but I can hear in my head that with each thumping step followed by that wet sliding sound and the strike of meet on wood, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, the step still groans under his weight, we really should have gotten that fixed, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. Thirteen steps and now he is coming towards me and all I can think about was how annoying it was hearing him count those steps.
I can't see the young man but my body is being moved strangely and since I have no feeling or control I can only assume it is the man. The nasty looking woman drags herself towards me; I can smell rot and see maggots writhing on the remnants of her left hand. I lay here feeling colder and colder every second. At least I am numb. She crawls towards me so slowly and Frank, my sweet Frank, steps on her back as he comes ever closer my direction. I watch in horror as that length of his guts get caught under her ankle. He reaches the end of his intestinal leash coming to an abrupt stop. He looks rather puzzled but then renews his efforts, he fails to make any progress then he begins to rage. Doubling, then tripling his efforts to get to me and with a tearing sound more of his insides unravel, throwing him off balance. He tumbles forward landing on top of me. Like the lover he once was, his teeth graze my throat. Without hesitation he begins to nuzzle closer, his warm moist lips press against my neck, they part just before he bites down -- hard. This time he tears into the flesh of my neck and my world starts to get so dark. The pain so concentrated compared to the numb and cold I felt moments before. He leans back to swallow the chunk he has torn off, and as he leans back in I whisper in his ear "I told you I'd see your damn dog dead"

As I drift off I hear the operator say "An officer has been dispatched to your address. Remain calm."

My story doesn't need to be told, in the long run I am fairly certain that it makes no difference. Anyone who could benefit from reading this will be dead. The pages of this expensive leather bound over blown diary, getting soiled and dirtied as time consumes first the ink then the pages. Speaking of death, today was a close one. The horde was pressing in to close for our tightly knit group to repel and one man did what our many could not. He was either the bravest or the craziest man I have ever seen and I have seen some crazy people since the start of the "crisis". Let me start at the beginning so you can understand. Several weeks ago was just an ordinary day but that night, that night turned into a trip to hell.
My name is Demetrius Zhukov, I used to be a bicycle courier in a average sized city. Day one of the "crisis" I had just finished all my deliveries for the day and just gotten to my neighborhood, when I noticed a cop car outside of my closest neighbor Frank's house. Aside from the strangeness of cops being at Frank's house his door was ajar which is strange everyone within a three street radius knows how obsessive compulsive Frank was, how his wife put up with it is anyone's guess. I parked my bike beside the house like usual and knelt next to it when I heard a gunshot, then a scream followed by more gunshots. I whipped around, heavy bike chain swinging in hand, towards the house in time to see a cop slam through the door like a race horse released from the gate. His arm was drenched in blood and as I watched it dripped staining the sidewalk a bright red. The cop turned back towards the house firing as he rushed back towards his car, finally I could see what he was shooting at. Frank's imposing bulk suddenly filled the door way. I noticed that Frank was a bloody mess and blue cloth (same blue as the cop's uniform ) was hanging from his mouth. The cop should have watched where he was going cause he didn't notice the curb and came down on his ankle with a crack I could hear from my yard. He fell to the pavement hard and his gun flew from his hands to skitter under his car. As Frank descended onto him the pitch of his scream jumped an octave and before I knew it I was running to aid the cop against my seemingly deranged neighbor as I stood over the pair writhing on the ground I realized I had not formulated a plan so I just swung down hard with my chain striking Frank in the head. Once, twice, he just ignored me until about the seventh strike. He started to rise so I flailed about with the heavy chain in earnest. By the twelfth hit he went down but in my panic I hit him twice more before realizing he was still. Looking down at the man I once borrowed a weed eater from, I could see what looked like his brain. Looking at my chain I could see chunks of flesh, bits of skull, brains, and hair lodge in the chain. Some of the holes completely plugged with some one else's skin. I looked away accidentally directly at the cop's face, he was bitten all over I reached for a clean spot on his neck to check for a pulse. Nothing.
Standing there in the quite I could hear a rhythmic thunking like a fist slamming into a body. Kneeling by the cop's car I fished out his gun and decided to investigate the noise. Frank's wife could be hurt. Stepping in the door way I first noticed the blood, then I saw Frank's wife, Susan, banging her head against the floor over and over. That was the sound I heard looking at her I almost stumbled over a bloody old homeless women as I brought my foot near her she lunged like a waiting snake. I tried to jump backwards but only managed to fall on my ass. There was a good thing about that, it was nearly impossible to miss her gory face, it even had fur in it! Brains and skull showered onto Susan. Through all this Susan just continued to bang. I looked at her and it looked as if hyenas had brought her down then got interrupted half way through the meal. her neck had to be broken it was bent at a grotesque angle and I could see it where someone had been biting on it. The banging was driving me mad like the tell tell heart beating under the floor boards I had to shut it up so I shot her in the face too. With the silence came nausea and shaking gagging, I stepped into the other room and tripped over a corpse. It was a young man with several bullet wounds in him. One in his torn up face going through a large portion of his skull. Laying near the dead man I could smell blood everywhere crawling towards the door on hands and knees I realized I was crying. I had never shot anyone in my life and I have never shot anything alive ever, certainly not my neighbors. I played video games, shooting people is nothing like that though. When I reach the front door I noticed with a start that the cop was gone, just a blood trail running off into the night.
Standing near the door I could hear the cops radio squawking loudly for some one to pick up. The dispatcher sounded so very afraid. I answered my voice shaking
"Hello?"
"Who the hell is this" the dispatcher appeared to be a older man.
"Uhm the cop who's car this was is probably dead I saw him go down and checked his pulse and he wasn't breathing he was attacked by another man"
"Was he bitten?"
"Bitten? Yes very much so…" After a few more brief exchanges I got off the radio feeling more scared then I was before, it appears what I just went through was happening all over the world, people killing people they had know for years. Everyone was already infected the second you die you come back, like Frank and Susan. The sun was setting and the sky was the same color as the blood on my hands, and my jeans, and matted in my hair, and splattered on my face, my entire body splattered in red.
I left my bike unlocked, zombies don't ride bikes.
I spent the next few hours barricading my home. A week later my house was over run with filthy corpses. I had to jump from the second story window because the had flooded up the stairs and it just so happened that leaving my bike unlocked probably saved my life I didn't have to do anything, just ride off as the grasping hands tugged at my jacket. With just my bike chain and a bat I rode off. The next week was spent trying to avoid them, but my bat and chain were soaked in gore more often then I would have liked.
I met with a small group of survivors, a few guys and several girls. Me and two other guys Steve and Henry were stuck with the close quarter weapons, me my bat, Steve had a crowbar and Henry had a machete and the girls got all the guns unless they were sending us into a building then they would loan us a gun or two. We had some skirmishes and Henry got his ear shot off when one of the zombies was a little to close when one of the girls shot at it. Despite all that we still managed to find some where safe-ish to hole up for some time, giving me some free time to write this. I know this is not the time or place but there is a girl here with us named Lynn, I have never seen a girl use a gun like she does… Well I had never seen a girl use a gun before this so I guess it doesn't mean a whole lot. She is rather pretty well except for that scar… Adds character though makes her look really tough. Millions of undead bastards and I am writing about a hot girl I must be an idiot. Plus she began this group with Steve, so maybe he has claim. Henry is super possessive about all the girls though, he guards them and always talks about how we need them to repopulate and all this other nonsense. I don't really trust him he seems like he would rather shoot someone that needed help then actually help them. Of course to a guy like that it is helping them I guess. I just hope I never get stuck having to clear a house with just him. I often wonder if him getting shot was really an accident most of the girls get annoyed by him and they also are generally really good shots. It could have been just from being tired or truly just an accident.
The other's in the group are alright, they are pretty ragged and weary but seem sane enough.
I have a whole lot more I want to get written down but my hand is cramping up pretty bad and I will have to write more later. If I survive…

The crowd mills about expectantly despite the warning to not leave your homes, that something was terribly wrong. These people paid good money for their tickets who cares what the news says. So several thousand people are packed into a dusty square that shouldn't even hold a quarter of them, everyone is panting in unison. Heat shimmers over the black stage and the musical equipment gleams brightly, so brightly it hurts. The crowd is impatient with the muttering of a lynch mob and movements like caged animals. Rock concerts in the summer are always dangerous this one though is more so… it has a 98% mortality rate.
A lone ragged figure stumbles to the edge of the concerts grounds a fence between him and the meat he longs for, he pounds at the chain-link fence until his hands bleed becoming frustrated he begins slamming his body against it until finally it begins to give way and finally a large tear appears in the fence not large enough for a normal man… but he begins shoving himself through the too small hole and like a meat in a blender he is ripped and torn, ignoring the pain he continues to rip and tear his own flesh to get through the hole. Heedless of the wounds he just inflicted to himself he heads toward the throbbing crowd mindlessly ignoring that he just left several pounds of flesh and muscle on the fence behind him.
The band steps out like kings onto their bejeweled dais. The crowd begins screaming like an enraged animal, clawing and tearing at itself the crowd swirls in on its self, pulsating and throbbing in time to the beat. The gore covered cop, who just fought his way through the gate, grins the smiling grin of a skull as he stumbles into the edge of the crowd. The screaming changed but no one seems to notice least of all the band.
Mike in hand I scream out the last note of our first song, I wait for the crowd to stop screaming and such but they don't so instead of giving them the usual how's everyone doing speech, I just begin the next song. Halfway through the song I notice some people in the crowd are actually fighting, what a compliment! By the end of the song though I can tell something is wrong I hear no screaming. I put my hand up to fight the glare and hear the sudden of a metal barricade falling. Pulling my shades on to combat the sun I see no one is having a good time anymore, in fact every one is bloody standing to close to the stage like a castle under siege they fight to climb the sheer sides of the stage and it sounds like they managed to get backstage because screaming begins to come from back there. Our mindless fans our truly mindless fans had become something else with all the blood out there I have no clue what has happened but one of the bouncer struggles up onto the stage with multiple bite wounds he crawls towards us and stops, shaking he begins to cough and spasm blood spilling from his mouth. I had no idea the human body could hold that much blood. I look down, it's staining my chucks red. Suddenly the bouncer is still, and with a moan begins to rise, Behind me I hear screaming, a high pitched girly scream, looking back I see our guitarist, Vega, screaming. He just won't stop! I look back at the bouncer and he is really close to me reaching for me I grab up the mike stand like a weapon and tell him that if he takes one more step I am going to bash him in the face. He doesn't stop so I do just what I told him I'd do. With a crunch he goes down and teeth litter the stage, he keeps crawling so I hit him again. More people are beginning to climb the stage. The screaming stops suddenly after the sound of a fist striking bone. Turning around I see Lynn our drummer and the only girl in the band, standing over Vega's prone body, she shrugs and tells Steve, the bassist, to grab him. Steve does so, he picks Vega up and tosses him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I pick up Vega's guitar and we head for the exit as the first of our "fans" make it upright and on the stage. I kick the door open and knock over a blood person with out hesitation I slam the guitar down on his snarling face over and over laughing as I do so. I never knew something could be more fun then rocking. With a grin I tell the others to follow me. As we fight our way through people we once consider rivals and friends I get to kill more and more of them.
Steve and I round the corner trying hard to keep up with Abel, our lead singer, as he laughingly kills people we knew. I am trying so hard not to be sick, he seems to be enjoying it.
We are almost to our van when a shambling zombie in a tattered cops uniform surprises Abel, Dropping the guitar they both hit the ground hard, as they hit a small revolver falls from the cop's ankle holster, his other gun was missing. I grabbed up the gun but couldn't get in a shot. I thank daddy for all those trips to the range as I wait for the chance to help. Abel wrestles his way to the top, laughing all the while, and begins slamming the cop's head against the concrete. When Abel pulls the cop up for what looks like the finale the cop latches onto his shoulder with his teeth. Abel screams and begins laughing again. He can't pry the cop off so he tells us that he is going to give the cop a "taste" of his own medicine. So he bites the cop's neck and we can still hear his muffled laugh as he bites and tears at the cop. I throw up on Steve's feet, who is as white as a ghost, then sobbing I shoot both Abel and the cop. We begin climbing into the van when a massive horde comes running around the corner. I am in the driver's seat and Steve was laying Vega down in the backseat. I yell for Steve, and he jumps in the passenger seat. We start driving at reckless speeds swerving this way and that to get around hordes of shambling bloody things. I only hit a few on our way out. Looking back I see what looks like thousands shambling after the van. Steve finally speaks which he hadn't done since before the concert. He says two words that struck terror into my heart.
"Watch out!"
© Copyright 2016 Darrenn Deffenbaugh (lyee at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2077089-Zombie-short-stories