Zombies, Vampires, Aliens, and Oddities: A Collection of Short Stories and Flash Fiction Page 2

  “So what did you do?” It was hard not to make it sound like an accusation.

  Standing up, his chair rolling away from him, Mark’s dad undid his belt and dropped his trousers. In the center of his left thigh was a livid scar about the size of an identity card. Why had Mark never noticed it before?

  “I’d heard from the Marines that after the dead came back to life, they craved human flesh.”

  “You didn’t, Dad?”

  Mark’s dad didn’t reply.

  The echo of Mark’s high-pitched shriek bounced off the walls of the small room. “You fed her a slice of your fucking thigh?”

  The footage showed Mark’s dad walking into the room again. This time, he moved with a limp as he shuffled towards the dead woman. “She seemed too tired to get up at that point.” He put the plate down near her as she arced her lip at him from the floor.

  As his dad backed off, the woman on the screen stirred. It was like the human flesh contained some kind of magical property that roused her from her death spiral.

  With her tongue flicking from her mouth like a snake tasting the air, she dragged her weary body across the floor to the slab of meat.

  Unable to take his eyes off the footage, Mark swallowed against the bilious burn rising up his throat. “Did you cook it before you gave it to her?”

  When she got closer to the plate, the camera zoomed in, and Mark got his answer. The meat sat in a pool of its own blood. “Fucking hell, Dad, what were you thinking?”

  After a cautious taste, the woman pounced on her meal, grabbing the meat with both hands and biting down hard. As she tore the first chunk away, deep red blood ran down her chin, standing in stark contrast to her pallid skin.

  ***

  Another leap forwards in time, and the woman was on her feet again. She was running from one side of the room to the other, more energy coursing through her than at any other time before.

  Watching on, breathing heavily through his large nose, Mark’s dad said, “It worked.”

  “No shit.”

  “We nicknamed her Eve. It wasn’t because she was the first because there were others before her. But she was the catalyst. Having this virus active in the city was a very different prospect from having it in a distant rainforest. At first, I thought I was God. I thought I’d managed to create life. Imagine what power there was in bringing people back from the dead. But I soon realized I was the asp. I’d masterminded man’s fall from grace. I’d set the wheels in motion.”

  Mark pointed at the monitor, showing the zombies outside. “Hardly a legacy to be proud of is it, Dad?”

  “It was an accident.”

  “You cut a chunk out of your fucking leg and fed it to her. How’s that an accident? It was fucking foolish.”

  When his dad didn’t reply, Mark looked back at the zombies outside. “So why do they eat dog now? I thought she would only eat human flesh.”

  “She would, but they must have evolved. I’m guessing the ones that would only eat human have either learned to adapt or have died out. It’s been over thirty years, so they’ve clearly coped.”

  “They’ve more than coped,” Mark said. “They’ve thrived. Who’d have thought that the next evolutionary step for humankind would be to take away our ability to think? Remove our ego, and we stop destroying one another. Those mindless fucks are less of a threat to their own existence. Maybe humanity can live in peace now?”

  Searching the monitors, Mark looked at the evidence of their once “great” society. Abandoned buildings were wrapped in weeds. Cars had turned to rusted lumps on cracked roads. Skyscrapers were nothing but derelict and craggy pillars that were rotting from the top down. Mark had witnessed the entire train wreck from that tiny little control room. A detached observer of humanity’s fall from grace.

  “All of this,” Mark said. “All of this because of you. I’ve spent most of my life in this shitty complex because of you. I’m probably going to die in here, you realize. I’m going to die in that fucking chair. I’m going to die running stupid fucking checks on stupid fucking machines to keep a small group of stupid fucking people alive until all of our resources inevitably run out. We’ll probably resort to eating each other and becoming what we’ve spent our entire fucking lives trying to avoid.”

  Heat swelled in Mark’s chest, accelerating his heart as he watched his dad, his face gaunt, his jowls hanging loose. He looked older than ever before.

  “They were going to weaponize it anyway, Mark. The human race has always been destined to wipe itself out. I thought I could do something different. I thought I could use it for good.”

  It took all of Mark’s strength to refrain from grabbing the back of his dad’s head and shoving it into the screens in front of him. Couldn’t he see what was left outside? It was hardly used for fucking good.

  The next jump in the footage showed his dad entering the room again. This time, he had a clear perspex shield as well as his riot gear. Slipping inside, he moved quickly across the lab to the other side of the room. “I couldn’t see so well with the helmet and mask on,” he said.

  “What do you…” But before Mark could finish the question, he saw Eve run for the door, pull it open, and dart out into the corridor.

  Staring at his lap, Mark’s dad’s shoulders slumped. “I thought the door had locked behind me.”

  ***

  Another jump in the footage, and Mark’s dad had taken the riot gear off but was still in the lab. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he was playing cards with a three-year-old Mark. They were smiling and joking. That was the man Mark knew. Maybe that was when this iteration was born. Looking at the dejected figure in the chair, the anger inside of him settled. Nothing would change who he was as a father. That was, and always will be, real.

  “It was a miracle that you were safe, Mark. It was like she knew to leave you alone.” Before Mark could respond, his dad added, “After she’d escaped, I ran out into the complex, grabbed you and some food, and locked us in the lab. It was a bloodbath outside of that room. Everything the marines had told me about the virus was true.”

  “Why didn’t you listen then?”

  His dad didn’t respond.

  The footage jumped forwards again. “We stayed in there for a week, and no one came to find us.”

  On the screen, Mark’s dad left the room.

  “Eventually, food started to run low, and I had to do something. Leaving you on your own was the scariest thing I’d done in my life, but I had to do something.”

  ***

  Another jump, and Mark’s dad had returned. “The complex had fallen. Instead of coming back for me, Eve clearly went for easier pickings out in the unsuspecting world. Why wait for one stubborn scientist and his boy when there was a banquet elsewhere?”

  Unable to take his eyes off his infant self, Mark watched the little boy drive a toy car around on the floor of the lab. Oblivious to the horrors that had been set free, he was still allowed to be a child. “How many people know you started this, Dad?”

  “No one. Anyone who was involved in the experiments were long gone when I locked Eden down a week later.”

  “You cut the world off that soon?”

  “I did what I had to do, Mark. The world had already fallen. My only purpose was to keep you alive at that point. There isn’t a day that passes where I don’t regret what happened. I was young and foolish. I was caught up in the ego of science. I thought I could control the natural world. And most of all, I thought I’d found a way to reunite a mother with her son.”

  Mark’s stomach lurched, and his knees buckled, thawing a wobble through him.

  “I couldn’t cure cancer when she was dying, but maybe I could do the next best thing.”

  Watching his dad for a second, remaining upright by holding onto the back of his seat, Mark’s gaze followed the single tear that ran down his wrinkled cheek. He then looked back at the screen. Frozen in the center of it was an image of a woman. Eve. Her eyes were bright, her smile full.
It was taken before she’d died. It was the first time he’d seen a photo of her. His dad had told him there weren’t any.

  Stepping backwards, Mark fell into the other chair in the room. Reading the words beneath the photo became harder as his vision blurred, but he managed to finish the eulogy before he was blinded by a hot wave of grief.

  “To a wonderful wife and mother. Your time wasn’t up. Always in our hearts. Thomas and Mark.”

  End.

  ***

  There will be more stories in the Eden universe coming out soon. If you would like to be kept informed of my new releases, my mailing list can be found at:

  Www.michaelrobertson.co.uk

  A Love Letter to Ian Curtis

  The haunting synthesiser from Joy Division’s ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ moves through the smoke filled room. Its hypnotic charm slithers into my ear and rides down my spine. It hits my coccyx, passes through my right buttock, and slides down my leg. It comes to rest, coiling in the ball of my foot. I keep my toes firmly planted on the floor but I can’t stop myself from tapping my heel. This song may have only been out for two months but it feels like I’ve known it for my entire life.

  Whack! Dean’s hand explodes to life, stinging my thigh as it smothers it and pushes down like he’s trying to force my foot through the floor. There’s barbed wire in his brown eyes. His clenched jaw could crush brick. This evening’s heading down the toilet. It’s where they all fucking head, especially when he’s been on the fucking booze.

  The conversation continues on around us; the boys oblivious to Dean’s fury. Their words are lost to me, leaving nothing but flapping mouths behind. It’s like I’m watching them while submerged. Despite my slipping from the moment, Joy Division don’t miss a beat in my mind.

  The same four faces are sitting around the table with us; Dave, Jason, Kevin, and Wayne. It’s always the same faces and we’re always crammed into this booth in this same club. I’m sandwiched between Dean and Jason; their wide shoulders forcing mine up to my neck. I used to have friends but they all got bored of telling me what I already knew, He’s no good.

  Dean’s fingers bite into my thigh again. My leg was moving without me realising it. The gasp escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

  The conversation dies and all of the boys look at me. They know what I’m in for later; everyone knows. But they do nothing about it because he controls them too. His heavy shadow enshrouds us all. That’s the thing with control freaks; they surround themselves with people that will buy into their bullshit. And if you don’t? Well, he raises the fucking stakes doesn’t he? A week in the bathroom with nothing but a box of dried cereal. Having one foot soaked in bleach for two hours so you can never wear open-toed shoes again. The family pet beaten to death right in front of your fucking eyes.

  I draw the thick smoke into my lungs, my mouth watering for a cigarette. He doesn’t know I smoke. He wouldn’t approve. Not that he approves of anything.

  Although his eyes burn into the side of my face, I turn away from him and listen to the music. Let him hate me. Let him grab my leg. Joy Division are playing and he’s not ruining it. This is my song and he can’t fucking have it. The rhythm pulls me from his reach. I’ll pay for sure, but not now, not here. I glide higher than he could ever climb. My caged heart is a liberated dove when it hears Ian Curtis and he fucking hates it because there’s nothing he can do about it.

  My leg bounces despite his restraining hand. The scorch of his glare is virtually burning my face. A shake runs through me in anticipation of what’s to come, but it doesn’t stop the music working. My heart falls in sync with the kick-drum and I turn to look straight at him. His dark features burn with murderous intent but he does nothing when I get to my feet. There are too many people about.

  Gallons of spilled alcohol have left the dance floor permanently sticky. It pulls at my shoes; trying to slow me down and daring me to change my mind. I could pretend I’m going to the ladies room. No! Nothing can stop me now. I walk into the middle on shaky legs. I raise my hands above my head and start to channel the teenage girl of over a decade ago. That was before Dean. I knew how to have a good time then. I looked great and I was proud. I close my eyes. I feel alone. I feel free. I unlock the cage as I let my hips swing first and then my body. I clap my hands above my head. The packed bar joins in with me. Drunken words of encouragement spur me on. Tears dampen my cheeks. I haven’t felt this free in years. Dean will make me pay but I don’t care. This moment’s mine.

  End.

  Captive

  Because the room was always dark, it was impossible for Hope to know how long she’d been there. Weeks? Months?

  Lying on the sodden mattress, the musty moisture permeating every part of the room, Hope sniffed hard. The dampness had wormed so far into her body, her sinuses felt like they were clogged with sand. Her tongue was lined with fur, her ears ached, and her muscles quivered with exhaustion.

  She scanned the room. The ceiling was dark, maybe black; it was hard to tell in the poor light. Even when they switched the bulb on, she struggled. They’d been doing that less and less nowadays. Maybe they didn’t want to look at her anymore. Maybe the guilt was too much for them. If Hope were to guess, she would say it was because of her appearance. About how much she repulsed them, rather than how much they repulsed themselves. Without a wash since she’d been there, she now stank of dirt and no doubt looked a lot worse.

  As she lay shivering, she listened to the slow and deliberate footsteps approaching down the hallway. Since Lucien had abducted her and her family, she’d been his whore. If she didn’t behave, she’d never see her parents or younger brother again.

  The footsteps got closer, each heavy click of a heel ratcheting up the tension in her back. This couldn’t go on any longer. She had to fight back. If her family was still alive, she had to free them.

  The boot heels continued across the stone floor. Click, click, click. They stopped outside her door, and her heart went into overdrive.

  The handle creaked, and she heard his clumsy breath. It was another John driven by his libido.

  When he pushed the door wide, his large frame blocked out most of the light. For a moment, he stood there, breathing hard, close to groaning with each exhalation.

  Balling her hands into fists, Hope’s entire body snapped tight when he stepped into the room. The debris of stones and chipped brick on the floor crunched beneath his heavy gait.

  Without a word, he dropped down to his knees at the foot of the mattress. Breathing heavily, he sounded like he’d pass out, but no such luck. He rested a hand on either side of her head and lowered himself down on top of her.

  The thin and dank mattress offered no support beneath his weight. Trying not to cry out, Hope clenched her teeth against the pain, her shoulder blades feeling like they would snap as they were pressed into the concrete floor by his huge mass.

  The smell of rot smothered her when he leant close, his mouth a hole of rancid decay. Saliva rained down the back of Hope’s throat as he pushed his face closer still.

  When he burrowed into her neck, every inch of her skin crawled. His sweat was a fetid mix of garlic and stale beer. Hope guessed he drank so he could blame it on the alcohol. But it wasn’t about the booze. The demons driving him were biological, not chemical.

  Letting her hand fall to the dusty floor, Hope grabbed the half brick she’d managed to break out of the wall earlier that day. Gripping it so hard the sharpness of it dug into her hand, she drew a deep breath and closed her eyes as she waited.

  Then she heard it.

  Having been through this so many times, she now recognized the sound she was once oblivious to. Now it was the only thing she heard. Like a warrior drawing a sword, his incisors unsheathed with a damp slither.

  A red light flashed in her vision as he bit down, his teeth sinking into her. Overwhelmed by her raging pulse, her neck burning, she listened to the wet slurps and gripped the brick harder.

  Releasing an orgasmic gr
oan, the man sucked so hard on her neck it pulled the skin tight and restricted her breath.

  Gasping as she cringed against his bite, Hope thought of her mom, dad, and brother. “This can’t go on,” she murmured.

  The man either didn’t hear her, or didn’t care.

  What else could she do? At least this way she could rescue them. Her life was a small price to pay.

  Taking a deep breath, Hope swung the brick at the side of his head. It connected with a wet crack and he pulled away, her neck on fire from where his teeth had torn at it.

  Looking up at the large man, most of him in shadow except for his wide, white eyes, Hope brought the brick up again. Crack!

  For a second, he teetered on the edge of his balance. Then he tilted to the side, hitting the floor with a heavy thump that shook the room.

  Jumping to her feet, her vision blurred with tears, Hope delivered another cracking blow to his head. Winding up for another one, she stopped herself.

  With her pulse sounding in her ears, and her breath ragged, she looked down at the man. “Not too much, Hope. He can’t die yet.”

  Moving over to him, she pushed her face close to his and her neck bled onto his shirt. Although his breaths were shallow, they were there. She hadn’t gone too far.

  Watching his large chest rise and fall, the stench of his rancid breath wafting up to her, Hope gulped back her excess saliva. Could she do it? It was the only way. She had to meet them on their terms. But could she do it? If she didn’t do it now, what other chance would she get? Lucien would already be furious with her. She had to follow through.