Flash: Zombie Stench

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature (language)

“Oh … god,” Dick moaned doubling over.

Vinny turned back to look for a second before continuing his visual sweep of the mall. “You okay, man?”

“You didn’t get bit or anything?” Sandi frowned. It was just the three of them now and she hated to have to shoot another friend. The guys were too squeamish, so executions fell to her.

“No, not bit.” Dick panted rapidly a few times before straightening enough to lean against the wall. “God, I shouldn’t have had those chili dogs.”

“First fresh food in days and you complain.” Sandi growled, checking the ammo levels in her pistols during the lull. She frowned before stuffing a couple bullets into her revolver; she didn’t remember firing it. “Whine, whine, whine.”

“This after screaming like a girl?” Dick snapped back.

“The zombie grabbed my boob, before I blew out his brains.” Satisfied everything was fully loaded, Sandi did one last tap check to verify everything was in place before bringing her carbine to ready. “Had to have been a mother-fucking perve in life. First one to go for the double Ds, most go for limbs.”

Vinny went over to his neighbor, running an eye over Dick. Leather jacket was covered in gore; black gloves, heavy jeans, and work boots they picked up yesterday were far from new now. Dick’s face was sweaty and pale, but his lips didn’t have the crusting.

“Vinny, I’m going to need more ammo soon.” Sandi reported as she took over the visual sweep.

Vincent served as the group’s de facto leader since Warren bit it, bit it in more ways than one. A loss since he was the only one in the neighborhood who had been in the military; sure he got kicked out of boot camp on a medical, but at least he walked them through basic weapon training and opened up his armory. Warren had really, really wanted to be part of the military. Vincent was a little shocked by how much fire-power had been located in his little suburban cul-de-sac.

Satisfied Dick would live — and not turn around and kill them — Vincent said. “Granger Mountain replaced the Macy’s a few months back. It’s on the west end.”

Sandi frowned; it was rapidly becoming the day-care worker’s natural expression. “That’s past the food court. If any zombies made it in, …”

“I know.” Vincent’s voice cracked with exhaustion.

Vincent and Dick joined Sandi at the pillar in front of the Hello Kitty store. It had been prime real estate, located at the juncture between an entrance and the main hall of the two-story mall. Across the way was a Barnes and Noble. Looking down the hall, the group could see the retail excess of mostly useless clothes.

They had debated retreating to the mall once their neighborhood had been overrun. They needed a place with supplies. The Super-Walmart was the best choice, if they hadn’t run into horde after horde. Seemed like Wally World was the store of choice for mindless zombies.

 The mall had an ethnic food market and an Aldi. The zombies would have eaten all the easily accessible food, if they were around, but the canned goods would be intact.

Taking the left side, a natural preference since he was left-handed, Vinny announced, “Clear.”

Sandi verified the right side. “Clear.”

“Dick, you know the way?”

“With three teenage daughters? The mall’s a second home.”  Dick moved into point, following the established pattern. As the oldest, and most out-of-shape, of the remaining group, they liked him to set the pace. He was also, surprisingly, the most accurate shot. After Warren and Cass … left … the sniper rifle fell to him.

Manikins moved in the shadows as they quick marched down through the unnaturally empty space. Other than their booted steps, the only sounds echoing were the high-pitched hum of lights and the motorized rumble of the escalator. Grimacing, Richard ran up the ramp between the half-levels. One fight on a staircase had been enough for a lifetime.

Shortly thereafter, the grand hall widened into the food court and, for the first time since entering the mall, sounds of human movement could be heard. They ducked into a short hall immediately before the food court. Sandi, the smallest and most agile of them, poked around the corner while Dick and Vinny checked the narrow passage.

“Fifteen or so, but they are at the McDonalds. Half of them in uniform,” Sandi whispered.

Vinny nodded. They had seen similar grouping behavior. “Most likely with whatever functions as their minds, they chose a familiar place.”

Sandi pulled back completely into the corridor. “If they are in a safe place, they won’t react as fast. We could blow by them quickly.”

“Good plan. Let’s move on three. One … Two …”

“Where the hell are you going Dick?” Sandi hissed through the count.

Dick continued walking down the hall. “I’ve pissed myself twice, damn if I am going to shit myself.”

Vinny turned to see Dick pushing open a door. “What the hell ARE you doing?”

“Taking a god-damn bathroom break.”

Vinny and Sandi stared at each other in shock after Dick disappeared into the restroom.

“Aberrant behavior.” Sandi muttered.

Vinny shook his head. “Usually aggressive, not stupid like this.”

“He has lost it.”

Vinny looked sadly down the mall’s utility passageway; crazy they didn’t need. “Agreed. So on three?”

They broke out, Sandi’s carbine and Vinny’s submachine gun shooting short bursts, running flat out for once, without Dick slowing them down. Turns out Sandi’s visual assessment was accurate, at least as far as she could see. The steakhouse tucked against the food court’s side, around the corner and invisible from the restroom alley, held a much larger group.

The multitude, many having name tags declaring a store and a no longer viable name, flooded the area. Even with the generous use of fire power destroying bodies and with zombies being distracted by the fresh meat, the two were unable to continue. As Vinny slammed in his last magazine, through unspoken agreement, the couple retreated to the last defendable position.

The zombies followed, through no more than two abreast could fit past the public phone. A few bounced off the wall mount, unable to process why they could go no further.

They needed another gun to get out. Vinny and Sandi pushed open the men’s room door.

“Oh shit! What is that?!?” Sandi said, covering her burning nose.

Vinny nearly puked. He had several days of zombie gore on him, and he never smelled anything this vile. The small room reeked.

“Nearly done guys,” came Dick’s bass from second stall. Farting and sounds of something half liquid being ejected followed. The sound was horrifyingly similar to the sound of Cass using the sledge hammer on zombies.

Speaking of zombies, a swinging door is not much of an obstacle, once the zombies knew it was a door. They followed, like the never-stopping horde of mindless creatures they were, they followed.

And stopped.

Mindless does not mean without senses.

Zombies actually have a very good sense of smell.

The zombies gagged.

Not something anyone would want to see, and REALLY not something anyone wanted to hear.

Then the zombies retreated.

Vinny froze in shock.

Sounds of Dick pulling up his jeans filled the silent tiled room.

Sandi yelled. “Dick, whatever you do – DO NOT FLUSH!!!!”

“Sandi, what the fuck are you doing in here?” Dick stepped out of the stall.

Vinny turned on the woman of the group, “And why not flush that putrid shit from hell? We are going to be stuck here for a while.”

Sandi, the bounding twenty-something, curvy, beautiful, perky, relentless blonde, the one which had driven all men nuts during the neighborhood block pool parties in her infinitesimal bikini, the only female to survive the five grueling days and nights since the first zombies came visiting, grabbed Dick by the ears, pulled down him down, and kissed him thoroughly on the lips.

“I love you!” she declared, releasing him. “You get chili dogs FOREVER.”

After that she laid down and curled around her carbine like a teddy bear.

Vinny and Dick stared at her. She, their mascot, their backbone, had gone mad.

Sandi cracked open an eye. “The zombies can’t stand the stench. They don’t understand things change. They are going to wait until we come out.”

The two men heads shook slightly side-to-side trying to follow her reasoning.

“Dudes, we can sleep.”

(words 1,417 – first published 9/17/2013, republished new blog format 7/1/2018)

Flash: The Antichrist’s Big Sister Blog – Part 3

Hey all. I’m back.

Sorry to take so long – the final year of high school has been a whirlwind.

First, I would like to thank the message board for all your suggestions about how to function in my unique family situation. Everything from stocking up on marshmallows for the Apocalypse to what to expect when my brother comes into his powers was awesome.

I especially want to thank all the support I got about confronting my father, the judge and even step-dad.  The non-stop “You Go Girl” was, for lack of a better adjective, awesome. I am flattered that several people used my example to throw off some of the really bad situations they were in. I didn’t set out to become an inspiration. And truth is, having read the circumstances some of you gals, and guys, were in, my complaining about my situation is like the meme of the first world problems crying woman going “I tried to spread cold butter on my toast … and the toast ripped”. All I can say is my telling Satan I will cut off his balls makes you stand up to evil where you live, then more power to you. You gals, and guys, rock – and good luck.

Second, $exy$hi#. No, you can’t have the two phone numbers I got. But I showed Troy your comments about what you want to do with the guys, demons, whatever. (I think I will go with whatever from now on – everyone down with that?)  He recommended two other whatevers that step-dad did not introduce me to. I have set up a temporary email address which I am going to post in the “contact me” area. Shoot me an email with your contact information, I will forward the information to them while also providing you their information at the same time. Then I am going to delete the temp e-box and get out of the picture. And, no, $exy$sh#, I do NOT want to know what happens. Reading about your plans was bad enough, informative, but harsh. I is only eighteen. You are a sick, sick girl and I think you are going to have lots of fun.

Anyhow, business out of the way.

Troy.

I know, new name. Yes, not his real name.  Really not suppose to share his real name, he is one of step-dad’s minions. No relation to the happy, bouncing yellow minions from Despicable Me, except their boss knows everyone’s names, fart guns are acceptable forms of entertainment, parties every weekend and lots of gluttony involving ice cream, … and well, I guess whatevers are very close to the minions in Despicable Me.

Anyhow, Troy. (sigh)

He has been hanging around the house … a lot.

He was not one of the entertainers step-dad offered up on my birthday as a gift. Troy is much too busy actually doing work for the horned one. Himself is not one to deprive himself of good help – actually bad help – someone really, really good at bad things.

I haven’t been home as much. Which is good, because I am not doing too well standing up to Troy’s flirting. Cripes, the man can handkiss. It feels really weird the first time, but the whatevers don’t change manners fast. Or maybe they do. They are good at blending.

But they know a good thing when they find it. Hold a woman’s hand, slowly lift to your lips keeping eye contact the whole way, lightly – oh so lightly – brush your lips against the knuckles, wait for her to breathe again, never losing eye contact, wait a second so she is not sure you are finished, then either kiss the fingers again, rotate the hand to kiss her palm, or lower the hand before releasing. Never release the hand before lowering and, never, ever break eye contact. Vary so she never knows what to expect so she keeps eye contact trying to see the intent in your eyes. Troy’s eyes are green, with a rim of gold right before the pupil. The right iris darkens to a deeper green towards the edge than the left one. His pupils always expand, covering the gold when he makes a decision to kiss my palm. His lips feel like a brush of roses on my hands.

Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.

Anyhow, working lots of hours. A good thing. Been at the Scottish Hamburger joint doing my final sentence in the fast food industry. Hopefully next year I will be a college intern. More on that later. Mom says the chances of my beginning major, English Literature, being my final major is like nil. She says to get as many of the liberal arts requirements out of the way until I find what I really want to do.

Personally I think me being a reporter would be awesome.  Step-dad is torn. Again, that whole seeking the truth thing. On the other hand, reporting will make me an observer. Which sets me up for the not getting in the way of the end of the world. I will just write as the world burns. I mean, like any reporter, I hope my words will change the world. But I got enough of a cynic in me to realize the chances of that are slim to none.

Except you gals and guys have already shown me my words can change things. Maybe need to rethink the pessimism, and also whether being a reporter will let me do my job as the Antichrist’s Big Sister.

Mom doesn’t think I’ll be happy. Being a reporter. She is all big on happiness since marrying the horned guy.

Again, respect my mom’s choices. My step-dad is light-years better than my bio dad. The horned guy makes her happy. Heck, we are even expecting AC (antichrist) number two shortly. Sometime in December.

Go figure.

My bet for delivery date – when does winter start? Any takers?

Oh, oh. I got into a college. I think I told you that, right?

Got the letter right after my birthday, so maybe not. Out of state. Best media and news reporting college in five states, plus. Far from my bio dad, plus. Bigger bill for him to pay since I don’t get in-state grants, extra plus. (Yes, I have verified he has sent in the first semester’s payment and it has cleared the bank.) Far away from the bad influences of step-dad and his minions, plus. Far away from mom and Billy, neg – big neg.

Far away from Troy. I don’t know.

We talked all night last night on the porch about my move, my job, his job, my future. But not our future. He even gave me glimpses of his past as I fell asleep on his shoulder. I don’t think he realized I was still awake … he just kept talking. Comparing the starry night sky to things he had seen.

I don’t know what to do about Troy. Long distance relationships aren’t good. Relationships with whatevers aren’t good. Look, don’t want advice on this one, not yet. Still need to think things through. Life is going to change.

Off to pack. Only a month until the off-to-college roadtrip. AC’s Big Sister signing off.

(words 1,207 – first published 4/9/2013; republished new blog format 1/21/2018)

 

Author Spotlight: Nora Roberts

Amazon Cover

Nora Roberts shook my world when I first read her. This happy Harlequin/Solitude style writer helped define Paranormal Romance – a genre which one can arguably say birthed Urban Fantasy. HER romances had witches and psychic powers, sharing shelf space with the typical millionaire romances.

Her books took up a shelf by the time I went off to college. I’ve since gone more into Urban Fantasy, as that genre has grown, and she has concentrated on her bread-and-butter market of traditional romance.

But every now-and-again, she brushes off her magic and reminds people that romance happens in all circumstances. If you haven’t looked her up in a while, you might want to read her Apocalypse series starting with Year One: Chronicles of The One.

Book Review: Wool

Book Cover from Amazon

Wool by Hugh Howey

BOOK BLURB ON AMAZON

Thousands of them have lived underground. They’ve lived there so long, there are only legends about people living anywhere else. Such a life requires rules. Strict rules. There are things that must not be discussed. Like going outside. Never mention you might like going outside.

Or you’ll get what you wish for.

 

MY REVIEW

This one is a little weird to write up. Originally published as a short story of only 50 pages, the story was so popular Mr. Howey was encouraged to write a followup, and then another, until he wrote a total of five books in a series (over 500 pages available as a single omnibus as well as sold separately). And that series did so well he added another trilogy. And that did so well he is allowing others to write in his Silo world. So do I rate the story as a short story or the first of a series? Because as a short story it is thought-provoking and as a series introduction, the world-building has huge holes unacceptable for the long-form.

Mr. Howey writes some pretty good short stories that make you think. A number of his stories available on Amazon show his like for this format. “Wool”, as a short story, follows a man mourning his wife and dealing with a post-apocalyptic world where everyone is locked in a buried multistory building with only a few windows to the outside world, which slowly get covered in grime. The story covers both the present day and the history leading to his wife’s death. Wool removes the grime and allows clear-seeing to how the world really is. “Wool” is a solid short story worthy of a good anthology or collection.

As the first of a series, “Wool” lacks a lot. The survival just doesn’t seem possible. To start, how does the central staircase survive? Diamond treads wear off in just a couple of decades, not the 200 plus years they have been inside and using this as a major thoroughfare. Yes, no weather – still humans produce a lot of water naturally. Moisture and rust and use would have killed this in the first 50 years. Second, where does the wool come from – or any of the cleaning products. A carbon suit? Argon? The digital screen? So much is just not possible. I don’t know if he resolved these issues in later books. Again, his original book was not aimed at being anything but a short story and short story worlds do not need to make complete sense. They need to get a reaction – and this story definitely achieves that.

But not enough, for me at least, to continue in this depressing post-apocalyptic world. I agree with the main character who says the children books with green and blue just speak to a person. You know those are the correct colors. I don’t want to read about a people locked in a buried tower without sunlight or hope. Although it would be interesting to see how they survive. How it changes what it means to be human.

Picked up while free on Kindle; using typical marketing model – first of a five book series, with the first book free.

Book Review: Ice Forged

Amazon Cover - Ice Forged

Book Cover from Amazon

Below is my the second Apocalypse Fantasy novel book review this year. (Click here to see the other: Shattering the Ley). I guess the end-of-the-world no longer applies to just the Young Adult (YA) sci-fi and horror genres.

Ice Forged by Gail Z. Martin

BOOK BLURB ON AMAZON

Condemned as a murderer for killing the man who dishonored his sister, Blaine “Mick” McFadden has spent the last six years in Velant, a penal colony in the frigid northern wastelands. Harsh military discipline and the oppressive magic keep a fragile peace as colonists struggle against a hostile environment. But the supply ships from Dondareth have stopped coming, boding ill for the kingdom that banished the colonists.

Now, as the world’s magic runs wild, McFadden and the people of Velant must fight to survive and decide their fate …

From Gail Z. Martin, author of the beloved series THE CHRONICLES OF THE NECROMANCER and THE FALLEN KINGS CYCLE, comes a new fantasy adventure for the ages.
Welcome to the end of the world.
Welcome to the beginning of THE ASCENDANT KINGDOMS SAGA.

MY REVIEW

Brought during a Kindle sale to kickstart the advance copies of Gail Martin’s next book of the series.

I normally don’t buy High Fantasy, disliking the formulaic approach of the quest – gather the friends – travel the lands – etc. Somehow an author writing High Fantasy never quite makes the world or situation real to me, but the world-building aspects of a magical planet suddenly have magic no longer working the way it should intrigued me. I’ve met Ms. Martin at conventions and the price was right so I decided to go for it.

The first book of The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga focuses on the death of magic and the immediate consequence following. The magic system is just unique enough and is tied to why magic can go from tame and usable in every day life (better tasting beer, a tweak to keep pests out of crops, major magic to use in wars) to a feral, dangerous force roaming the countryside, more ferocious and hungry than any monster.

I liked the Siberian-style prison colony, but wished the continental magic countries and their politics were a little less generic. The world-building fell just a breath below the intriguing I was hoping for. On the other hand, this was the first book of a series. The author needed to define the world, the characters AND the situation. I look forward to book two to see if world becomes uniquely its own as the medieval magical apocalypse continues.

As for the story itself, again just shy of being really good. It just didn’t pull me in all the way, but then I am not a fan of High Fantasy so I am not the best judge success or failure in this genre. Some bits are repetitive, but just enough so that if you need to put down this 600-page tome for a day or two (such as for going to work), you can slip into the story again without flipping back.

The ending is anti-climatic. Some other reviewers thought this was a down-point. I, for one, was happy not to see a big final battle that needed to get bigger and badder with each continuing book of the series. This book is about failure: moral good being punished for doing the right thing the wrong way, a good kingdom falling to a bad kingdom because it obeyed the rules of right, a prison at the end of the world overturned by its convicts – and the convicts discovering they still needed to do everything their keepers made them do, coming home in triumph and discovering there is no home left, and finding all the clues they need but still unable to pull things off. Of course the final scene will close in failure; but it sets up the possibility of success for the next book.

A book I look forward to.