Ready and... Action!!



  READY AND… ACTION!

  By Artie Margrave

  Ready and… action!

  By Artie Margrave

  Copyright © 2012 Artie Margrave

  Cover image was collected from the internet and I don’t claim ownership of it. If it’s yours and you’d like it removed, please contact me at artiemargrave@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this eBook may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the express written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Other works by Artie Margrave includes:

  Hunted: Jake the Ripper, a novelette

  The Curse of the Chest, a novella

  Body Parts For Hire, a short story

  The Burnt Refuge, a novelette

  READY AND… ACTION!

  HOW had it gone so wrong? It was supposed to be a shot. Then they were out of here. It turned out things didn’t go according to plan.

  Chuck hid behind the door of the empty house he’d taken refuge in. His hands shivered even as he gripped the Glock .40 tightly. His intrepidity, previously a solid rock had melted and made a complete mess of him. He heard them crawling outside. Their unearthly growls squashed his already melted confidence. Sliding, heavy footsteps seemed to be drifting away before they stopped.

  Had they been found? Could these rotten bags of abomination sense them? Was it time to make a contingency move? That depended on him making one in time and time was his big enemy for now, just not as flesh-hungry as the monsters roaming outside.

  The footsteps then continued. He heard the slow, heavy sliding move away till he heard it no longer. A dreadful silence followed, one in which he clearly heard the loud thumps of his rapid beating heart and the croaky exhalations he gave.

  The loudness of his heartbeat lowered and he was finally able to utter a sigh. He made a mental note of himself. The fear had drained him of energy and confidence but now they were returning. Cowards! Why didn’t they stay with him when it all seemed he was going to be eaten?

  “Is it safe now, Chuck?”

  He nearly crumbled at the loudness of the whisper. It had come as a mighty shock to him. More than half of the sureness that was being revitalized within him once again dissolved.

  “Relax, it’s just us,” the person whispered again.

  “I know,” Chuck replied, turning. “I was just…” he paused and placed the muzzle of the gun on his head in a non-threatening way that finished his sentence: “…mentally absent.”

  Tiny held his Sony Camcorder in front of him, almost in line of his sight but it pointed downwards. Beads of sweat filled his face, a face that was full of tension, of unrest but that was all. Being the most vulnerable of them, it was rather surprising that the dude didn’t look as scared as he did. His lean, sinewy body had come to his advantage. He’d trusted it and it hadn’t let him down.

  Jack stood beside him, a black shotgun at the ready. His red eyes in that darkness scared Chuck. For all he knew, Jack could’ve passed for one of those things outside. But he was in a way glad about Jack’s company. Being a fantastic marksman had helped in pushing the zombies back and most times off their tracks, even presently but Chuck also remembered that part of the reason they were now in this mess was because of Jack’s unstableness. He was just too hot-headed, too volatile, easily thrown into anger. If he’d known earlier, he definitely wouldn’t have brought him along.

  It’d started at the weapons shop, third stop. First and second stop had been for gas and toiletries respectively. Nothing had happened during those times. The four of them: he, Tiny, Norma and Jack had silently crossed the deserted town in their obtained Lexus, collecting the supplies without drawing any unwanted attention to themselves.

  The weapons shop completely changed that story. Jack and Norma had gotten into an argument over the shotgun he now carried. Norma’d wanted it and it was the only one the place had.

  Completely alien to their plans, their argument had drawn the attention they’d all done well to evade. The zombies had swarmed upon them.

  Chuck remembered the carnage, the blood spewing everywhere. He was grateful that the zombies had attacked them there. It was better than being attacked at somewhere like the park, for example. They’d used up more than half of the ammo the shop had to keep the zombies at bay before being forced to abandon the place and their only real source of escape. The Lexus.

  Fighting against the hordes had only attracted much more. He was the leader of their group so he’d always remained in front trying desperately hard to do his job. Tiny was the nimblest of them all, and the sharpest. Without as much as a stone that he could arm himself with, he had no burden in keeping up. Jack had sacrificed energy for speed.

  Norma, however, had nothing going for her. He’d cried his heart out as the zombies caught up and fell upon her and tore her to pieces.

  The grisly memories filled his head. Her cries of agony and death echoed in his mind. He hated himself for being alive presently. He regretted not asserting his control on the both of them. Norma would still be alive if only he’d played his responsibility well. The next question that came wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

  “What next?” Tiny.

  He looked at the both of them. Doubt and angst filled Tiny’s face. He had to motivate them. He needed a plan.

  “Well, first we…” he started but that was it. Nothing else came to him.

  “He has no plan,” Jack said. His voice wasn’t a whisper any longer and it wasn’t nearly comforting. But Chuck didn’t argue that fact. It was true. He had no plan.

  “The plan is to keep running till we’re either turned or on the menu,” Jack continued.

  “That won’t happen,” Chuck responded but with a level of hesitancy. “The wall is not too far from here, just less than an hour’s run, if we can make it very fast. We get there quietly, we’re safe.”

  “It’s a total failure I tell you!” Jack’s voice had grown worryingly loud. “Now we’re going back with nothing save our chicken feathers and news of our dead Norma.”

  “For all I know, it was your fault!” Chuck returned with anger. “If you’d just allowed her have the damn gun, maybe she would still be with us! Maybe we would be past the wall by now! Maybe we would all be laughing at the production!”

  Jack’s face was flushed with an anger Chuck knew he was desperately struggling to hold back.

  “I don’t have to take this,” Jack said raspingly and rolled out of the darkness and to the doorway. “I’ll find my own way home.”

  Then he stepped out. But Chuck didn’t hear him walking away. He slid out from behind the door to check.

  Jack was still standing outside. His large shirt flapped in the breeze. His shotgun hung from his hand and rested beside his leg. Looking at his face, Chuck noticed his widely opened eyes. His expression was like one that had seen a ghost. He kept looking at Chuck. A message was written in those eyes.

  Something was wrong.

  Then he opened his mouth slowly and he uttered a strained, “Run!”

  Chuck caught that but he wasn’t quite sure what he meant until a figure flashed out of nowhere and Jack was thrown to the ground. He looked down sharply. And saw the bedraggled figure atop Jack. He stood entranced by th
e sight. His mind went limp, as his body. His will turned frozen.

  The zombie struggled strongly with Jack’s arms. Its strength was unbelievable. In seconds, it had Jack pinned down and lowered its jaw for a bite.

  Jack turned. Chuck saw the fear in his ears. Death swam beneath his skin.

  “Idiot! I said run!” The voice was fraught with resolute. And then a large chunk was torn from his cheeks, along with the flesh outside of his eyes. Blood soiled his face. His body quivered madly.

  An eerie growl came from a near distance. It was a full minute before he registered and understood the gravity of what he was seeing. They were coming!

  He took a silent step back. He failed at its silence. It was a thunderous clap of thick sole on concrete. The zombie turned. It spotted him.

  It spotted him!

  He stopped. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. Half of the upper half of its face was missing. Decaying, hanging flesh represented its missing left eye, cheekbone and ear. Blood plastered the remained face. Its mouth was garbled and secreted salivary strings of blood. The remains of Jack’s torn flesh disappeared into that mouth. This thing had been a man once. Red, ravenous eyes glared at Chuck.

  It lifted itself off Jack. Jack’s body had gone limp and lifeless. It was going to be a couple of minutes before he would wake as one of them. That counted on if they hadn’t found his body before then and had their heartless heart’s fill.

  The monster growled. It drew Chuck into presentness, the deadness in front of him. It limped forward. Chuck realized he couldn’t move. His foot refused his will.

  *****

  HE heard them outside. Their dragging footsteps crawled past his doorway. He remained silent. Soon their footsteps died. He checked the bowl. It was now empty. He needed a refill but he decided to remain. He had to be attentive. He needed to see. He clicked again.

  *****

  “CHUCK!!!”

  That dashed him out of his terrified trance instantly. His foot moved. He jumped backwards in time as the zombie lunged for him, bringing the muzzle of his Glock up.

  He fired!

  The sound resonated. He heard it resounding miles away. The zombie dropped after a low-pitched squeal and all manner of motion stopped.

  One clean shot to the head took care of things. Chuck looked at the filthy thing. Then his attention was drawn outside. Something was moving. He espied Jack’s body shivering. He was coming alive… no! He was coming undead. His reanimation had begun.

  “We have to go.”

  He turned. Tiny, still holding the Camcorder as if he’d been filming, collected his attention.

  “The back door is open. It leads to an alley that adjoins a minor street. No undead there as much as I can tell.”

  “Move, move,” Chuck instructed and sprang towards him. “Let’s get the blazes out of here.”

  Tiny didn’t need second telling. Chuck sprinted through the room after him and entered into the dining. Tiny waited for him to show up. Chuck caught up with him and led the way. They stumbled into the silent alley. It was littered with debris strewn so carelessly about that it made the place have the semblance of a war that had been refought over and over again.

  No sooner had they stepped on the rubble-coated cobblestones of the place than they heard the crashing sounds of breaking glass that came from within the house. A dark growl followed the crash, followed by another. Chuck realized that they’d caught up with Jack and were coming closer. They must’ve heard the door close.

  “We can’t stay here!” Chuck declared. His heart was beating fast. He picked a random direction and followed it. Tiny followed, almost abreast.

  They hadn’t gone far when the sound of cracking wood ripped through their ears. Chuck risked a glance backward and saw them; all four of them. The last one squeezed itself through the ragged aperture made from the others crashing through the door. He stood.

  “My God, we have to run like hell!” Chuck said.

  “Jack?” Tiny asked.

  “Yeah… and Norma!”

  Tiny looked back. Jack stood behind the others. He was missing pieces of his face and his left arm. Only the shoulder was left.

  There was very little left of Norma now. Her limbs were strangely complete but were almost completely empty of muscles and flesh and were coated in slime. Her shirt was missing. Remains of her intestines hung towards the ground from the wide gash in her stomach. Her abdomen was absent due to the gash. Her long, messy, blond hair matted her face. She driveled with blood. Her large breasts swayed to her every movement.

  The other two were random undead folks; guys that had been turned a long time. One favored his right leg and the other had bits of his neck ripped off.

  The moment their eyes fell on Chuck and Tiny, they released a wail that sent chills into both their hearts and gave chase.

  They quickened their pace. Chuck tried to find their bearing. They had to make it to that wall and on time too. He was low on ammunition and Tiny had none.

  They turned a corner. Chuck heard the heavy footfalls of the zombies behind them. Of all of them, he feared Norma and Jack the most. They’d been recently turned and they’d been close to them. Vestiges of their former self still existed within their reanimated bodies. Chuck knew it was only a matter of time before those remnants became extinguished. But while those remnants remained, they were the most serious of dangers. They could still think like they were alive and they were still fast.

  They entered into a street, completely spoilt with debris as the alley had been, even more. The houses here were deader than dead. They stood like sad ghosts waiting to possess, the ramshackle that they were. Several cars with shattered windshields littered the place. Some had been burnt, others bashed in and more others lying on their sides or on their heads. None of them was in a suitable condition for driving.

  Chuck remembered this place. They’d passed this road earlier en route to first stop, back then when they were still complete. The wall was further uptown.

  “This way!” Chuck ordered and started up the road.

  His voice was swallowed by the snarl that followed from behind them. Jack sprang into view, his wet mouth wide open. He shook his head left to right repeatedly so that it seemed he was fighting with himself, spilling saliva everywhere. He headed for them.

  “Go! Go! Go!!” Chuck said. Energy was being sapped from him. He stopped, turned, brought his gun up and fired. He didn’t miss. Jack fell prostrate. A pool of blood formed under his head. No sooner had he fallen than Norma stumbled out of the alley. He turned and resumed fleeing. Tiny had already created some distance. Good ol’ Tiny.

  Running, he removed the full cartridge from the shirt’s pocket and replaced it with the one in the gun. He heard their snarls biting at his back. It was as if they were almost upon him. Their! They!

  He looked over his shoulder. Following behind Norma were at least seven other undead. There’d just been two back at the alley. Had these additions been stalking?

  He keyed up his pace but felt his strength flagging. His mind rejected the idea of fighting back. He knew it would be folly. He could manage to shoot Norma and another five, if he did not miss, but he was certain they would be on him before he could have the chance to change cartridges. If only Tiny had a gun.

  He looked up. Tiny was looking back at him. His pace had dropped. Was he waiting for him to catch up? Was he stupid? Chuck envied his build. With his sinewy arms and long legs, both built for endurance and speed, Chuck knew Tiny had the ability to actually live among this infected and remain alive. The guy’d been a reporter, something about being first on the scene, at the right place and at the right time. No one knew him by the name Steve anymore. That name had probably died the day the dead started to rise to feed on and initiate the living; when names mattered very little.

  Now Tiny was looking to the side, towards the gas station. A digital display mounted on a long, rusting pole said its name was Lexaco. Suddenly Tiny changed course and sprinted for it. He
soon disappeared.

  What the hell was he doing? Was he trying to get himself killed? That place was a deathtrap.

  Chuck neared the gas station. Darkness oozed from inside. He made up his mind. He wasn’t going to wait up for Tiny. He wasn’t ready to be selfless. As a leader he’d failed already. This one wouldn’t change a thing. Already, they were returning with nothing. Tiny’s death and undeath was going to be of Tiny’s own doing.

  As he got beside the station however, Tiny returned outside. He had in his hands a medium-sized gasoline tank. Its weight was an obvious heaviness. It pulled his hands down and forced his veins out. And then he sent a look at Chuck, trailing his line of sight down to the gun Chuck held.

  Chuck stopped and understood what Tiny was wordlessly expecting him to do. Tiny staggered forward and dropped the tank on the filth-tarred road. Then he turned it on its side and with a strong push of his left leg, heaved the tank forward. It rolled slowly at first, then faster as it advanced upon the zombies.

  Chuck steadied his weapon, pointing it at the gas tank. It wasn’t long before it rolled past Norma. That was his cue. He fired.

  The consequential explosion threw him off the ground. He rolled twice before falling on his side. The thunderous blast stung his eardrums so ferociously that he felt he’d gone deaf. Sensation returned to them subsequently and he returned to himself in time to get back up.

  He met Tiny still standing, priding himself on his timely excogitation. Chuck marveled at how the dude hadn’t fallen to that blast before he noticed the bruises that draped Tiny’s arm which still held the Camcorder, which he believed still recorded. That thing’s battery ought to have died already.

  Before them, fire burned and smoke billowed. Smell of roasted undead flesh intermingled with that of fried plastics and metals.

  Nothing moved, save the shifting of the smoke’s upward ascent. They both looked at the beautiful ugliness the blast left, the smoldering remains of charred undead bodies. Some of them still sizzled. None of them moved anymore.

  Chuck’s eyes fell upon Norma, the blackened corpse that remained of Norma. A strange remorse welled up within him. He thought of saying “I’m very sorry” and “things should never have gotten this way” but instead found himself saying “it is better this way” and “you’re resting in peace now”.