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Survive The Dead - Part X

“Shhh!” 

“Be quiet!” 

“Move and your dead!” 


You hear these words in hushed, yet urgent tones.  You realize they aren’t trying to kill you, only trying to keep you still and quiet.  You relent and relax in the grip of your captors. 

As you relax, so do they.  You can make out the shapes of three people.  Only one you recognize as your neighbor who lives in the house whose yard you just invaded.  You can see that there are two men and one woman in this group.  All seem to be armed in some form or fashion.  You neighbor is the only one with an apparent firearm – it looks like a lever-action rifle.  The others are holding some type of bludgeoning object – one has a wooden baseball bat, the other is armed with a shovel.

You regain your composure from your earlier initial terror at being grabbed.  “What’s going on?” you ask.  “We were watching TV when the power went out.  I dug out an old radio and turned it on.  The announcer was spouting something about mass riots breaking out in several areas of the city, mostly on or side of town.  That’s all we heard for awhile.  Then the announcer became, I don’t know, scared?  He started saying the rioters were bodies of the recently deceased which had come back to life, attacking anything living - people, animals, it didn’t matter.  They said everyone should stay inside, barricade your home if necessary and not answer the door or go outside until it was safe.  We were hiding in the house.  We saw several people shambling around in the street.  We just hunkered down and tried to be quiet.”

The female speaks, “We heard screams coming from your homes direction a little while ago and got really scared.”  You think back to the attack in front of your house, the attack you watched.  “We wanted to go look, wanted to see what was going on.  We thought better of it though.”

The other guy speaks, “Then we heard the shots from your house.  We knew someone was fighting back, trying to anyway.  We decided to come out and see if we could maybe, help – I don’t know what we were thinking, but we had to do something.  We snuck out here and were trying to figure out what we were going to do next, when we saw you come out the back door of your house.  We didn’t want to call,” he looks at your shotgun, “Thinking you might be a bit trigger happy.  Then you climbed over our fence and here we are.”

Your mind is racing.  Dead people?  Impossible!  But then you think back to your engagement in your front room.  It took four shots, the fourth being a headshot, to stop that one attacker.  Immediately, you think of the one you shot who was crawling through your window.  One shot to the head was all it took.  Then you remember watching the attack in front of your house – the guy hit one attacker in the head with his bat, it bent the bat but the attacker fell and didn’t try to get up.  That must be it, how to take them down – a headshot or severe trauma to the head...

“Look,” you say, “we need to get moving.  You said you had a radio.  Where is it?”

“Batteries died,” the guy shrugs.  “I never used that radio, only when the power went out.”

“You don’t have any extra batteries?” You want to scream at this guy.

“No.”

“What kind of batteries does it take?” the other guy asks.

“Double A’s.”

“Dude, you don’t have a damn remote control in the house?”

The guy opens his mouth to speak, but stops.  “Yes,” he says realizing his stupidity. 

“We need to get that radio back on and see if there is any other news.” You say.  “It’s not safe staying out here static like this.  Let’s go in you house”

You and your three new comrades get back into the house without incident.  Once inside, the guy looks for his remote control to get the batteries.  You go into the front room to take a look out the window.

“How many did you say were outside?” you ask.

“A few.  Three.  Four maybe?”

You glance outside the front window from the side.  Indeed you see four ‘undead’ shambling around in the street in front of the house.  Not as many as were in front of your house – good.

“Found ‘em.”

The man replaces the batteries in the radio.  “Wait, don’t turn it on now.  These things seem attracted to noise.  Where can we listen to it?”

“How about the bathroom?” he says.

You and he and the others head into the small downstairs ‘half-bath’.  You pull the door to.  “Ok, turn it on – low volume.” you whisper.

“...definitely dead.  Again, the people involved in the riots earlier tonight are indeed deceased.  How, why they are reanimated is unknown.  Where they came from is unknown.  What we do know is that they are maniacally homicidal.  They will attack and attempt to devour any living creature they come in contact with.  Calls to the State Police and the National Guard have gone out.  Local authorities have contained most of the rioters.  The last area is the Northwest Vista section of town.  This area is extremely large and bordered by several city parks.  Numbers of walking deceased are extremely numerous in this area.”

Most city power is out, but is being brought back online as fast as possible.  If you are in your home and can hear this broadcast – quietly go about your house and turn off all light switches and power switches to any appliances you may have had on when the power went out.  The walking deceased are extremely attracted to noise.  If the power was to return to your home and your area has not yet been cleared, this may attract unnecessary attention to your house.”

If you are detected, these deceased bodies will continue to attempt to gain access to your home until they get in, or are destroyed.  It has been determined that the only means of destroying these deceased persons is to either separate the head from the body or cause extensive trauma to the head or brain.  Gunshots to the head are the most effective means, though blunt trauma can be effective if delivered decisively.”

“…what?  This can’t be right…what?” the announcer seems confused; “We have another report.  Apparently this has been confirmed by the authorities…any person who comes in contact with the walking deceased…any person injured by them through an attack…any person who is bitten or otherwise severely injured…will die from said attack.  Upon death, the attacked person will re-animate and assume all the characteristics of the walking deceased.  It appears these people do not respond to any amount of reasoning, they are completely and utterly, as explained before, maniacally homicidal.  They will attempt to kill any living creature they are attracted to or come in contact with.”

By all means, avoid contact with the walking deceased at all costs.  Stay in your homes.  Stay quiet.  Avoid attracting attention…repeating…”

You reach over and switch the radio off.  Your mind reeling yet again, walking deceased? 

The ‘Living Dead’? 

Zombies?

Zombie’s man, they creep you out.

You and the three others exit the bathroom in shock.

You kneel down, trying to gain control of the thoughts swirling through your head.

The four of you freeze as one.  You all turn your attention towards the front door.

You all notice a scratching…

And that moan

You’ve been discovered again.

To be continued…
 
Part 9 (with links to Parts 1-8)
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Survive The Dead - Part IX

Panic is welling in your gut.

“How could I be so stupid?” as you realize you forgot to reload your shotgun.

The intruder is reaching, straining towards you, arms outstretched.  Torn, fleshy hands grabbing for you in a desperate attempt to – what? 

You know

TO FEED!

You somehow manage to push your panic down and reach into your ammo pouch for some shells.  “Load one at a time.”  “Just keep some distance.”  You grab a shell, slam it into the magazine; then another and another and another - slow and methodical, like your attackers steps.  You cycle your bolt, chambering a shell.

You shoulder the firearm – BLAM!  The intruder, the attacker falls; his head rendered a coagulated mass of brain matter, bone and tissue blown onto the floor and the wall behind.

You notice you’ve retreated from the front room of your home into the living area.  You have two options:  You can head back upstairs, or you could go out the backdoor into your backyard.

“Think!” you tell yourself.  You’ve taken out two attackers already in your home.  More are trying to get in.  Sooner or later they will.  The front window is already broken, blocked only by the body of your first kill.  Those outside will get in, breaking the window further, crawling over the motionless, headless corpse currently barring their way.

“Think!”  You know there are at least eight to ten more of these whoever, whatever they are outside your house trying to get in.  You can barricade yourself upstairs, but you could get trapped.  You don’t have time to really barricade the stairwell so the only barrier between you and anyone getting in your house would be a locked doorway.  No way out onto the roof from any of the bedrooms – yeah, you’d be trapped.  You could hold out awhile, but for how long?  

You can go outside, out the backdoor.  You didn’t see anyone out back earlier and you haven’t noticed anyone trying to get in from the back of the house.  You would be exposed, yes, but more maneuverable.  You know your neighborhood and the streets around where you live.  These people don’t seem to be very fast, perhaps you can outrun them, get help.  But go where?  What help? 

Screw it.  You’ll burn that bridge when the time comes.

You decide to take your chances outside.

You switch off your Surefire light and head to the back door.  You take just a few seconds to let your eyes readjust to the dark.

More glass breaks, moans louder than before, more numerous, meet your ears.

“Time to go.”

You unlock the back door, open it and slip outside.  You close the door behind you as quietly as possible.  You step to the side of the door away from the window glass so you can’t be seen from inside; hopefully you weren’t noticed.

You take notice of the cool night air, a slight breeze ruffling your hair.  You stand for a few minutes, taking some measured breaths – listening, looking.

The yard looks clear.  You step off the back porch into the soft grass.  You take slow measured steps, not rushing but alert.  “Well smart guy?  You’re outside.  Now what?”

The only ways out are either over a fence into a neighbors yard, or over to the back yard gate and into the area where you really don’t want to be – the front of the house and the street where you witnessed a murder earlier.  You hear moaning and scratching from the fence by the gate anyway – “So much for the gate.” you tell yourself.

Crashes from inside your house grab your attention.  You glance towards the back door of your now invaded home and notice movement.  “Time to hop the fence,” before they follow you outside.

You sling your shotgun and shambled over the back fence into your rear neighbor’s yard.

Hands grab you, pulling your hair, your arms, grabbing at your feet.

You begin to scream, only to have it muffled by a hand grabbing your throat

To be continued…
 
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Survive The Dead - Part VIII

The window crashes in.

Adrenaline dumps into your bloodstream.  The flight or fight response kicks in.  From what you’ve already witnessed, the flight urge is almost overpowering.  This is your house however and you’re going to defend it and yourself.

You try to remember – “Breath. Slow, controlled breath.  Check your ‘six’.  Don’t get boxed in.  Wait for a clear shot.”  Your finger slips from the ready position outside the trigger guard to the trigger.  “Squeeze the trigger, don’t yank it!” you remind yourself.  “Tight position in the shoulder pocket, good stock weld.”

Don’t panic!” is the primary command from your mind.

A body claws and crawls its way into the front room of your house.  “Stop, I will shoot” you warn the intruder.  At the sound of your voice, the intruders head snaps directly towards you.  An inhuman growl, loud and menacing escapes from ‘his’ mouth.  Outside, the moan is joined by several others trying to get into your home.  A crescendo of ungodly noise rises outside what’s left of the window.

Well, they know I’m here now” you think as you switch on the Surefire fore-end light on your shotgun.  You point it towards the intruder now gaining his footing inside your home.

What you see is almost beyond comprehension:  A bedraggled person wearing disheveled clothes.  It looks like the front of ‘his’ clothes are covered with blood; it looks dark, not fresh, yet still glistens with a moist sheen.  The front of ‘his’ throat is gone?!  He is covered with other wounds on his arms, face, hands – they appear to be covered in blood, not dripping, but congealed.

The intruder gains his feet, the moaning incessant which chills your blood.  You take a few steps back separating yourself and the intruder by ten to fifteen feet.  You issue one more warning, “Stop, I will shoot.”  You are surprised by the calmness of your voice.

No response from the intruder other than the moan.  He steps towards you…

You feel a slight push against your shoulder.  The room is filled with a brilliant flash, gone in an instant.  You notice the aroma of spent gunpowder.  You hear the report, an overwhelming noise in the confines of your home but your mind doesn’t register it initially.  The weapon cycles automatically – one shot spent, three left in the shotgun. The intruder is down, a large hole in the center of ‘his’ chest.  No blood flows from the wound.  You’ve pulled the trigger and just killed another human being.  Your mind reels.

The intruder has fallen backwards and is now resting against the wall.  Other hands, other bodies, are trying to crawl into your home through the broken window.  You turn your attention towards them when you notice…

“Impossible!  WTF?”

The intruder you just shot is attempting to regain his footing... 

He’s not dead!

“I hit him right square in the chest!  Fifteen feet, basically point blank range.  He took a 12 gauge shot of number four buckshot at point blank range and he’s still moving!?  He’s trying to stand again?!”

You fire again.  Point blank range, dead center of mass shot.  Another hole appears as before in the intruders’ chest.  The weapon cycles automatically – two shots spent, two left in the shotgun.  As before, this shot knocks the intruder off his feet, against the wall.

Another body is crawling into the room through the window.  You take a quick bead on the new intruders head and fire.  The weapon cycles automatically – three shots spent, one shot left in the shotgun.

The new intruders’ head disappears in a moist spray of bone and brain matter – “No blood!  Why isn’t there any blood?!”  You fail to notice in the heat of the moment that there is plenty of blood, but that it is caked into the brain matter, coagulated.

The new intruders’ body is now blocking the window entrance for the others trying to get in to you, but that isn’t your main concern at the moment…

The first intruder has now regained his feet and is advancing towards you yet again.

You make a hip shot (at this range you can’t miss) and fire a third shot into the advancing intruder’s abdomen.

The weapon cycles automatically – four shots spent, the bolt locks to the rear – you fail to notice.

The first intruder is thrown from ‘his’ feet yet again and is lying on the floor.  After a few seconds ‘he’ is moving again...

“Three shots and he’s not dead!?” 

“Impossible!”
your mind screams...

The intruder is almost on his feet again.  You raise your shotgun for the coup ‘de grace, a head shot…
You feel no push against your shoulder.  There is no blinding flash.  No associated smell of spent gunpowder.  Nothing happens when you pull the trigger!  You failed to notice your weapon was empty – you forgot to reload.

The intruder regains his feet.  His arms outstretched towards you.

His hands only feet away from your throat…

Too be continued...
 
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Survive The Dead - Part VII

Their hunger is insatiable, a primal instinct.

There is no cold, no heat, no sensation in the nerves.  No want, at least as it’s defined by living man.  No thirst, no shame, no emotion.  No need for comfort.  No thought of others; no thought at all.  No longer driven by the basics of biological life - no heart beat, no blood flows through the veins or arteries.  Though respiration can occur there is no biological need for the air.

They are driven only by a single, all encompassing urge –

to feed
.

There is no enjoyment in the feeding; no nourishment is imparted.  Only one overriding feeling, if it can truly be described as such –

the more they feed, the more they are driven to feed.

They are relentless.

They move not as a collective.  To be a collective there would need to be some type of rational thought, a cooperation belying intelligence.  A collective moves towards a united purpose, though a single-minded one.  It is one guided by rational thought of some kind.  They mimic a collective but this is a group of individuals, a horde - a horde of unmitigated shambling terror.

They know no fear.

They drive on.

They will not stop.

They must feed!


A window breaks…

Putrid hands push through the broken glass…

The grey, mottled skin tearing upon the shards, bloodless…

You release the bolt on your shotgun, it slams a shell home…

You’ve been discovered.

To be continued…
 
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Survive The Dead - Part VI

They are! 

They are eating the body!

You watch as eight decrepit, shambling murderers hover over the corpse of your newly deceased neighbor -

and feed

Minutes tick past seeming like hours.  You continue to watch with a morbid fascination.  You are horrified, repulsed, sickened.  Again as before, your mind reels unable to cope with the scene set before your eyes.

“Why are they eating the body?”
   “What the hell going on?”   “How is this happening?”  are all thoughts rushing through your head.  As you watch this heinous feast, another thought enters your mind, “What am I going to do?”

You think of earlier.  At least three of these ‘people’ were trying to get into your house just as they did the house across the street.  You remember the scratching and slapping and rubbing noises from your windows, your doors, the walls of your house.  “That could be me” you think as you glance again towards the scene.  “What am I going to do?”

You decide to head back downstairs and check the front of your house.  You slowly creep back down.  At the foot of the stairs, you stop and listen.  You listen for any noise.  Moments tick by.  You hear nothing.  Perhaps those who were trying to enter your house left.  Then you remember; you saw three people walk from the front of your house towards the body now splayed open across the street.  They were drawn to the earlier commotion, away from something which drew their attention to your house in the first place.

“Maybe if I stay quiet, they’ll go away?”
  you think wishfully

“What if they come back?”
Definately not a comforting thought. 

“What if more come?”
The thought which incites you to action.

Finally, a decision:  “I need to get ready.”  For what you aren’t really sure, but you figure standing around in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with no shoes on your feet is no way to react or respond to trouble.  And trouble is what you’ve got – powers out, phones out, a moderate sized group of crazies ambling around breaking into houses…and…

eating
your neighbors!

You push that last thought from your mind.  You’ve made a decision – it’s time to act.  You need to go back up to your room, get changed.  Get changed quietly and quickly.  It’s not going to be easy – no lights on remember?  Flashlight?  Better not.  Just do the best you can.

You creep back up to your room ever so slowly, stopping every few steps to listen.  Finally you get to your room.  After some agonizing minutes, you manage to drag together a pair of jeans, a decent shirt.  You find your boots, an odiferous pair of socks pushed down into them; you smile absentmindedly for a moment and pull your clothes on.  “Now What?”

You know, you just never thought you’d ever have to resort to this, at least under these circumstances: “I need to protect myself, my home.”  

You own two firearms – a Smith & Wesson K-22 .22 caliber revolver and a Benelli M-1 Super 90 12 Gauge shotgun.  The Smith was the first gun you ever owned; your Dad gave it to you when you were twelve years old.  It’s a rather worn little revolver, but is as accurate as it was the first day you fired it all those years ago.  It’s a small revolver, not much firepower either in .22, but you almost never miss with it.  All you’ve ever done to the gun is tap the front blade sight a bit to the left to give you dead center point of aim impact.  And you painted a bit of day-glo orange sight paint to the front sight blade for contrast with the rear notch sight.

Your Benelli – a work of modern art.  An auto loading shotgun; spring powered not gas operated; fouling can plug up a gas system.  A black, pistol grip stock with an inertial, fluid filled recoil reducer installed.  Firing three inch 12 gauge magnum loads barely taps your shoulder.  Tritium gas filled night sights; Surefire forend light.  Rounded out with a 30 shell combat sling.  You paid a pretty penny for this tool – “The ideal in home defense” as the salesman said.

You’ve never considered yourself a gun nut but your daddy raised you right with firearms.  “There’s nothing like needing a tool for a specific job and not having it.” he used to say.  Other than your .22 though, you didn’t get another firearm until well after you were married and the kids got a little older.  Eventually your conscience got the better of you and you broke down and bought the Benelli.

Now that decision gives you a great deal of comfort.  “At least you can protect yourself” you think as you dig out the ammo.

You snap your pistol belt to your waist, your now loaded .22 snug in its holster.  A universal utility pouch with a plastic buckle snap bulging with .22 ammo.  You also load up your Benelli.  You have thirty rounds in your sling notches – your “last ditch ammo” as you call it.  You snap another universal pouch to your belt and cram it with 2 ¾ inch shells.  You home defense load is No. 4 buckshot; more pellets per shell, a little wider pattern than conventional buckshot at close range for a more probable hit.

As an after thought you grab a small pack hanging over the rail of your bed, your gym bag.  You dump out the smelly clothes and drop another couple of boxes of shotshells and .22 ammo into the pack, and drop a small flashlight in as well.  You zip up the bag, stand and sling it over you shoulders.  “What the hell”, you grab your old Dallas Cowboys denim ball cap and pull it down on your head and exit your bedroom.

At the top of your stairs you stand and wait.  And listen.

You hear a muffled scratching again on the front window of your house.

They’re back.

And you’re ready…
 

Too be continued…

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
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Survive The Dead - Part V

Why are they trying to get in the house?

For a few minutes you stand, dumbfounded.  Focusing on anything in particular escapes you.  What is going on?  Surreal thoughts swirl through your mind. A noise from the house across the street drags you back into the here and now.

You look across the street.  More noise – glass breaking?  Yes.  It looks like those across the street at your neighbors house broke through the front window.  At the noise, some of those shambling in the street turn their attention toward the home.  Those already in front of the house begin their probing of the broken window in earnest – quickening their efforts.
 
As if driven by some need...

More of the window is broken.  More attention turned to the house.  It looks like maybe eight or ten ‘people’ are now trying to push their way through the break in the window.  They are pushing, shoving seemingly without regard to one another.  Their only focus seems to be on entering the house.

You watch the events transpiring, fixated.  It’s as if you’re detached from reality, like your watching a TV show or movie.  Thoughts of your own home, your own situation have left your mind.  Your only reason for living is watching this freakish mob scramble their way into the house across the street through a broken window.  More breaking glass - one finally makes it in through the window.  Then another. 

Another. 

Another.

A scream shatters your surreal reverie.

Unintelligible shouts, more screams from inside the house across the street - bloodcurdling.  As you watch, the rest of the ‘people’ from the street head toward the screams.  A few seconds later you notice first one, two, three shambling silhouttes walking across your yard from the front of your house towards the screams.  It looks now as if twelve to fifteen ‘people’ are either heading towards the house or are already there trying to get in through the broken window.

You notice something else – that moan; the moan is louder, it seems more earnest.  It takes on an anticipatory crescendo…

The front door to the house across the street bursts open!  A frantic figure emerges swinging a - what…baseball bat?  As the figure exits the doorway the ‘people’ in front of the house immediately turn their attention to the slugger.  Those approaching the house seem to quicken their pace.  A few now enter the house through the open door…the moan louder, louder...

A long piercing scream from inside the house is cutoff as if in mid-breath.  The slugger is swinging blindly.  Why isn’t he trying to run away?! He hits one of the ‘people’ in the arm.  Other than a momentary push, there seems to be no effect – no howl of pain, no grabbing of the injured area, no reaction at all.  After a few seconds, the guy who just got whacked in the arm resumes the advance towards the slugger.  A relentless advance; an advance echoed by eight or nine others with no apparent thought given to the swinging bat.

As the ‘people’ converge upon the slugger he turns to face his nearest attacker.  The bat connects with the attackers head.  The attacker stops and falls in his tracks.  The slugger pulls the bat back.  In this light it’s hard to tell but the bat looks bent?  An aluminum bat?  Must be.

On the next swing, the slugger misses the next nearest attacker.  He fails to notice the distance between himself and the others is now just barely arms length.  The slugger connects with one more, apparently useless hit – and is engulfed in a mass.  Eight individuals fall upon the slugger.  A scream tears from the sluggers throat – a terrible scream emoting fear, helplessness and utter horror.  The scream is cut off mid-breath - replaced by a moentary gurgling cry, then silence.  Just as earlier from inside the house.

Horrified you watch as the group which engulfed the slugger seems to hover over his now still body.  They are kneeling over the still form and appear to be tearing, wrenching, ripping the body…

Again you watch transfixed as they…

What are they doing?

They're...

it looks like…

eating?



To be continued…
 
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Survive The Dead - Part IV

You recognize the sound as a moan…

A moan which makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck.  Goose bumps break out on your skin.  In a manner of seconds, your face feels flush, your heartbeat quickens, your mouth dries.  You're scared?  And the fear is rising with the moans, a primal fear.  You feel an ‘itch’ in your mind – something familiar about these sounds, but you can’t quite put your finger on the feeling.  Your mind is reeling; your conscious and subconscious mind grappling for control.

After a few seconds, you notice it’s not just the moaning of one person.  It sounds like several.  Three?  Four?  How many?  You can’t be sure.  You must look.  At first you think, “Maybe I can see from upstairs.”  You then remember the porch overhang – you wouldn’t be able to see the very front of your house.

“Who’s there?” you begin to shout out, but something in your mind stifles the words just as they rise in your throat. 

No. 

Whoever, whatever it is outside your house doesn’t sound friendly.

You make your way to the front door.  “I’ll look through the peep hole.” In a reflex, you reach out to flip on the porch light.  The switch ‘clicks’.  Just at that moment you curse silently under your breath – “Stupid! When the light comes on, they’ll know you're inside for sure!”  It never crosses your mind as to why you don't want 'them' to know you're inside. 

Fortunately, the power is out and beyond the click, nothing happens.  You breathe a small sigh of relief.  The peep hole looms before your eyes.  “What the hell,” you think and look through the peep hole…

Nothing - shadows swaying back and forth - nothing.  No light, beyond ambient moonlight, so you can’t make out many details.  You see what could be three or four separate shadows, but you can’t be sure.

You step back from the door.  One thing is for certain, the scratching and rubbing noise is definitely more pronounced here right by the door.  You can also make out a more determined scratching, rubbing at the front window. 

And that moan


You must try to see what is going on.  You decide to head upstairs to look outside.  At least you’ll be able to look into the back yard - you haven’t noticed any sounds from there.  And you’ll be able to look into the street in front of your house and see a little bit of your front yard.  You enter your kids’ bedrooms and glance ever so carefully from the sides of the windows into your back yard – you can’t see very well, but you don’t notice anything obviously out of place.  You notice no lights from your neighbors’ homes, so the power outage is deeper than just your house.  No lights or ambient reflected light from a distance either so it is also bigger than your neighborhood.  Other than the moonlight, it’s dark.

You head into your room to look out your window.  You see the phone next to your bed.  “Why didn’t I try that before?” you mumble.  You pick up the receiver – no dial tone, no sound.  The phone is dead.  Now you know something is very wrong.  The phone always worked in other power outages, but not now.  You put the receiver back into the cradle absentmindedly and turn to the window.

You glance out and see…a few people walking in the street.  For an instant you think of banging on your window to grab their attention but something's not right.  There are only three or four people in the street, but that’s not what catches your attention.  They are walking in the middle of the street, not on the sidewalk.  As you watch for a few minutes more, you notice they aren’t really walking.  They are shuffling, dragging their feet.  One of them is walking with a very pronounced limp.

You look across the street and notice a few ‘people’ walking around the front of that home.  They are slapping the walls, the front door, the garage door, scratching at the front window – your mind clicks

just like they are doing at the front of your house

THEY ARE TRYING TO GET IN!



To be continued...

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
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Survive The Dead - Part III

You are vaguely aware of this place.  It seems familiar. 

Other than a slight breeze, there is no noise – not a sound.  

You survey your surroundings - something isn’t right.  The houses are in the right place.  Cars in driveways, on the street.  But something just doesn't feel right. 

The sky though darkening, is holding on to that last bit of dusky light.  You can make out the faintest hint of the occasional evening star through fast moving clouds; the moon is beginning to rise casting a pale glow upon the landscape when it isn’t obscured by those same clouds – or is that smoke?

Then you notice it.  No grass on the ground.  Bushes are uprooted, their foliage gone.  Flower beds are trampled showing not a hint of growth.  You look at the trees.  In places you notice where lower hanging branches have been torn from the trunk.  Bark is stripped from the base of almost every tree.  You walk towards one of the trees and notice the bark is stripped from the bottom of the trunk to about (you raise your arm) the height of someone reaching like you are now.  “What the hell is this?” you think to yourself.

Again you notice the lack of any sound.  Other than the occasional rustle of leaves high in the trees - nothing.  No dogs. No cats.  No animals at all, not even insects.  No vehicle noises.  No sound coming from home air conditioners turning off and on.  No distant traffic noise. 

Nothing.  

On the air an odor wafts.  You take a few deeper breaths trying to figure out what it is.  Then it hits you – decay.  Like a piece of meat which has turned.  That stench of decaying, rotting meat.  It permeates everything.  You notice it in every intake of breath.  

You turn and look back at the tree.  You see…what is that?  Teeth marks?  Like someone tried to take a bite out of the tree?  Who would bite a tree?  You look at the ground again.  All over, in every yard you look, it appears as if someone has dug up the grass.  Amazingly it looks as if it were done by hand.  You look closer to one particular spot and notice…a finger nail?

You bolt upright.  You just heard…what?  You look down the street, your street.  You hear it again.  Is that the wind?  No, too intermittent, too guttural. 

An animal?

That sound again, this time coming from behind you.  You look towards where you think the sound came from and see…something.  Like a piece of cloth being blown by the breeze.  It appeared just for an instant.  You hear the noise again…louder this time…

You see...

What IS that!?

Your blood chills…

You awake with a start.  You fell asleep in your lounger reading your book.

“Weird dream” you think to yourself.  

You move to sit up in your chair…

You notice the lights in your home are off.  Your music is no longer playing.  You look towards the desk in your study – no time on the clock.  “Power’s out” you mumble.

You move to stand up.  You stop.

“What’s that noise?”

You notice a scratchy, rubbing sound from the wall in front of your house – almost as if someone were rubbing sandpaper against the brick.  It sounds like someone is shuffling feet outside on your porch.  You notice what sounds like an occasional slap against the wall.  

You step out of your study taking a few steps towards the front of your house – you stop.  You notice a scratching - coming from outside the front door.  

You take another step towards the front door – and freeze.  You notice a scratchy, tapping on the window to your dining room at the front of your house.  The curtains are drawn, you see nothing.

Then you notice a sound.  It begins intermittently, but is becoming steady.  It sounds guttural, primal, threatening.

And it’s getting louder…

To be continued...

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The Plague is Upon Us - Survive The Dead

The Zombie War has begun. 
 
Will you survive?

 
For more, read Part 1 and Part 2.
 
For further instructions watch the following video
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Survive The Dead - Instructional Video #1

While some experts on the Undead differ as to the zombies craving of human brains as opposed to ANY type of human flesh, this video still offers many helpful tips on recognizing, preparing for or surviving zombie incursions.
 
Enjoy!
 
 
Read Part 1 and Part 2 of Survive The Dead.
 
Part 3 coming soon!
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Survive The Dead - Part II

You finish watching the evening newscast.  You can't wait to dig into your Hungy-Man Extra Portions TV dinner.  You also can't wait to enjoy a few 'adult-beverages' of the longneck variety.  You put on some music and head into the kitchen to take care of business.

You push the newscast to the back of your mind, even though these incredible events occurred just 'next door' in an adjacent neighborhood.

You never did hear the light, ever so light scratching at the front door.  The scratching noise has stopped by now anyways.

You finish your dinner and clean up after yourself.  "How in the hell did the kitchen get so dirty.  I only heated up a TV dinner." you muse to yourself chuckling just a bit.  You finish in the kitchen, start a load of laundry.  Once the washer is going you pop the top on another cold one, grab that book you've been reading and head to your study to relax and revel in your 'temporary batchelorhood'.  You think about giving your wife a call just to see how things are going but decide against it.  They've only been gone one day.  "I'll call them tomorrow" you tell yourself.

Just under the sound of the music you've been playing, you again fail to notice a scratching noise coming from outside your house.  You fail to notice that the noise seems to follow you as you go about your duties inside your home.  Scratching, rubbing, pushing the wall on the front of your home.  Back and forth. 

Back and forth. 

Against the front of your home. 

You don't notice a few muffled slaps against your garage door.

You are the product of early 21st , late 20th century urban conditioning.  Once in your home you are conveniently, blissfully unaware of what is going on around you or your home in the neigborhood.  Inside your home you are invincible.  You enjoy the peace and quiet.  You are engrossed in your book - enjoying the occasional pull from your 'longneck  relaxation'.  Because of this conditioning, you haven't taken notice of the real 'peace' and actual quiet in your neighborhood.

No dogs barking.  No cats mewling.  No crickets chirping.  No vehicles coming in and out of your neighborhood.  There is still the occasional long off siren.  An increase in distant traffic noise is noticeable if you are the type to pick up on such things.  Unfortunately, your an urban animal.  Nothing more than the scantest, subconcious spark flickers in your mind trying to tell you "Something isn't right." 

You have no trouble ignoring that spark. 

Outside, the initial lone shuffling movement outside your home is joined.  The scraping, rubbing, pushing, shuffling, slapping, increases.  Slowly. 

Slowly. 

Determined fingers begin more concerted probing.  Slowly. 

Slowly.

On the air, a foulness rises.  Slowly. 

Slowly.

You turn a page in your book.

To be continued... 
 
Zombies
 
Part I here.
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Survive The Dead - Part I

You mind your own business, safely tucked away in your own little world of material comfort, blissfully ignorant of the world around you.

You awake one morning and prepare for work.  Once your ready to go, you take a few minutes to enjoy your first cup of coffe - god bless french roast!  You watch the local newscast as you enjoy your early morning restorative.  You notice a story of several grisly murders - murders conducted by a 'cult' or 'cult members'.  The one terrifying aspect of these murders is that there seems to have been some type of 'cannibalistic ceremonies' conducted...

You shrug off this story as yet another example of how far the culture has fallen into the sewer.  You finish that cup of coffee and head off to work.

When you get home - after dark (of course the boss makes you work late), you notice an eerily quiet neighborhood: no barking dogs, no porch lights on, no lights in the windows of the houses around you - nothing at all.  Even the air is still.  And speaking of the air, you notice a faint, ever so faint odor.  You've smelled it before, but your mind dismisses it.

Anyway, you pull into the driveway of your house.  You know your house is empty, the wife and kids are off enjoying their vacation - you really start to hate your boss.  As you exit your car, you notice a lone figure ambling down the road towards your house - someone out for a nightly stroll most likely.  You turn to enter your house failing to notice the shuffling, jerky nature of the walk.

You turn on the TV and just catch the end of your local newscast.  They are recapping a story about another series of murders.  At first you dismiss it as a rehash of the story you saw this morning.  But you catch an address which causes you to redraw your attention to the screen.  You realize this is another story about another series of killings which occurred just adjacent to your neighborhood only a few hours before.  This time, the reporter states that police services arrived called on 911 by a resident of the neighborhood.  He reported to the police that a group of people had been walking house to house - banging on doors, windows, pulling on gates to yards, and making a god-awful moaning, screaming noise whenever they noticed someone inside a home.  The reporter then tells how the police arrived and attempted to stop these 'crazies' - only five or six people. 

When the cops arrived, the group turned their attention to the responding officers immediately.  One eye-witness tells of how repeated orders by the police to "Halt!" were met only with that moaning noise.  The 'crazies' didn't stop, wouldn't stop.  The police used tazers - no effect.  A backup unit arrived and attempted some 'non-lethal' rounds - rubber bullets from his shotgun.  One of the 'crazies' fell, but immediately began crawling towards the cops trying to regain his footing the whole time.  Then the witness states something completely impossible - one of the officers fired his sidearm at one of the 'crazies'.  The witness says the shot hit the 'crazy' in the shoulder.   Incredibly, he didn't stop, didn't cry out, and seemed completely oblivious to the injury.  What the witness failed to notice - so did the cops - was that no blood escaped the gunshot wound.

The reporter states that by this time, more police units and one EMS unit had arrived.  The original responding police had been able to do nothing to stop the 'crazies' but had waited for additional backup before attempting to physically restrain any of the group. 

Once the backup arrived the police now numbering 12-15, begin to attempt arresting the individuals.  One of the police interviewed by the reporter states when they approached they noticed they were all suffering from various types of wounds, what looked like bite marks.  Their skin looked grey and mottled.  One of the group was wearing tatters of clothing and had a fetid smell emanating from his body.

The cops take on the group and begin to arrest them.  The 'crazies' immediately attack the officers when they get within arms reach.  It takes several cops to subdue one of the individuals.  The whole time the 'crazies' try to bite the officers and act in a completely homicidal, vicious way.

Finally the cops subdue all the 'crazies' but the one wearing the tattered clothing.  As a group, they converge on the lone 'crazy' and manage to knock him to the ground.  In the scuffle, one of the officers receives a small bite, a scrape really, to his right arm.  Two of the EMS personnel are also bitten while trying to treat the other subdued 'crazies' prior to transport to the hospital.

The reporter finishes the story stating all the 'crazies' were transported to the nearest hospital for evaluation and treatment.  The officer who was interviewed also went to the hospital for treatment of his minor bite wound.  As he turned from the camera, you hear him say, "Man, I really feel like crap..."

While you have been watching the newscast, you fail to notice a slight, ever so slight, scratching noise at your front door...


To be continued...
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