Zombie Tears

This is a story I wrote over the summer for my intro to fiction class. Its weird.
Maybe sometime I'll post a more "normal" story.

Zombie Tears
F. K. Montgomery II

Our neighbor’s arm stood propped on the rail of our balcony, its fist clenched, post rigor mortis. It was supposed to be a “deterrent” for the undead lurking outside—an “A1 Security Systems Inside” sticker on the window, but for the undead. I assumed they knew what it meant.
A month and a half ago Pleasant Hill was in a Class 1 outbreak. Just a small rural area infected, forty zombies or less. More like “Not-So-Pleasant Hill now…” I’d joke to myself. The press seemed mostly unconcerned, covering up the deaths as “small incidents” and “probably domestic disturbances”. No one wants to hear about a growing infection of animated corpses, strangely.
Three weeks ago, local news upped the outbreak to a Class 2. It had spread to us in Bank’s Side, our suburban paradise. The death toll was estimated at 130, while the infected were estimated at 90. I wondered about those forty, unfortunate enough to die twice.
We had fortified our fortress, secured our perimeter, and boarded our windows and doors. The only view to the outside world was our second story balcony. Surely the zombies won’t find a ladder, and then figure out how to use it. Idiots. We watched from our balcony as the world we had known, our suburbia, fell to pieces. Is that Joanna and her dog from down the street? Crap. She made lasagna that was to kill for.

“Nathan, quit drinking that booze. You’re on watch tonight.” I said.
“Dude. Chill. Last one.”
Nathan and I switched off watch duties. Thirty hour shifts. Day to night to day. Then night to day to night. It kept things a little more diverse. We’d keep each other company a lot, but there was always a designated point man. Cindy would take a small shift from time to time, but she hated holding the sawed off shotgun. I feel like CNN recommended sawed off shotguns for this sort of thing. Or I’ve played too many video games, I don’t remember.
Nathan is just a little taller than me. Athletic. The dude is always climbing on stuff, like a hyped up spider monkey or something. He’d do anything for Cindy or me. Loyal. His twenty years of life had added up to mostly ridiculous adventures. I still have scars from the flaming bike incident.
Cindy is our house chef. Well, most of the time. She’s my girlfriend and she’s a vegetarian. Silly vegetarians. She keeps things in order while Nathan and I keep us alive. She’s a good height; she’s short but not too short. Her brown hair was always a mess atop her head. Skinny. She didn’t eat much and she would never let us enjoy the good food, the kind that comes in foil packages and ends in “-itos”.

There’s a small garden Nathan and Chris don’t know about. I don’t want them to know about it. It comes right up to the back of the house. When I’m in the basement, I can peel off a two by four, prop the window, and usually grab a carrot or two. Once I got three tomatoes. If I don’t eat them myself, I feed them to Xerox, our rabbit. He is ungrateful though. If Chris or Nathan knew about my garden, they’d kill me. They’d throw me off the balcony and feed me to the monsters, for risking our safety. Well, they might just yell a lot. Either way, they can’t know. This is my garden.

“We’re down to four packs,” I said.
“Yeah… how ‘bout that.” Nathan said as smoke escape from his mouth.
We needed to get supplies soon. The last time we tried, we almost got killed. Really, not just saying. We took Cindy’s Jeep, the largest of our vehicles, and figured we could plow over anything that got in our way. Side note: zombie pedestrians don’t obey jaywalking laws. We nailed that guy so hard we rode home on a flat and got our front bumper split in two. We got enough food and cigarettes to last us two weeks though. Getting supplies is quite the rush. Like grocery shopping on crack, with your life on the line.
I could see the glow of Nathan’s cigarette better than his face. Dawn would be coming soon. Day 24, stuck in our abode.

I haven’t checked the garden in a few days. I get a little antsy, wondering what treasures await me. I sneak to the basement before Chris and Nathan switch shifts. They probably think I’m still sleeping. I’ve got at least an hour.
When I sneak around, I think about those cartoons I used to watch, where some wise-ass bipedal animal would sneak up on someone, usually trying to cause them harm, but every step they took, a higher note would sound. Doop doop doop doop doop. Like tap shoes walking up a xylophone.
I peel back the two-by-four. I keep a hammer under my pillow for multiple reasons, and this is one of them. I prop the window. I reach out and feel my way around. Hmmm… crab grass. No dice there. I shimmy my hand to the right. I picture seeing this happen from the outside, like Thing from the Addams Family searching for a buried mate.
Ooo, what’s this? It feels like… another carrot! Happy veggies. Good work Cindy, I thought to myself. I uproot the orange beauty, pull it in, and go for round two.
What the hell? This wasn’t out there before. It’s hard like, I don’t know, a boot covered in mud. I can’t see it because of the angle. Crap. It moved. What the heck.
OUCH! What the eff! Did I just get bit?!

“Dude, I’m going to bed for a while.” Nathan sighed. His shift was over. My turn. He hands the gun to me and walks slowly down the hall, down the stairs, and into his room. I feel so badass when I hold this gun. It’s like, come on zombies… I dare you. Actually, I take that back.
I’m out of books. I read all three. Maybe when we get supplies we’ll find some crappy paperbacks at the store. Those might help pass these lonely hours between Nathan’s sleep and Cindy’s waking. For now I’ll just finish this pack of Marlboro’s. Shotguns and cigarettes, how delightfully tacky.

“Hey babe,” Cindy says, greeting me with a small plate with an omelet on it.
“Oh hey. How’d you sleep?”
“Fine, I suppose.”
“Thanks for breakfast,” I take a bite of the egg creation. Carrots? Who puts carrots in an omelet? Silly vegetarians. “It’s good, thanks.”
“How’s your shift going?”
“Amazing.” And by amazing, I mean boring.
“Good.”
We just sit for a couple hours, not really talking. Things are growing dry between us.
“Is it hot up here?” Cindy asked.
“Not any warmer than usual.” I said. I touched her thigh. Holy crap, she’s on fire. “You’re burning up.”
“I think I might go lay down.”
“Ill wait here.” I said.

I feel so different. What is going on? I can’t believe I got bit. Damn, I’m in pain. I’m craving. I can’t stop it. This is worse than craving chocolate on your period. What am I craving? It’s like being thirsty with no water in sight. I mean, like, running a marathon in a desert kind of thirsty. I mean, holy crap. It’s like needing a cigarette. EFF. I gotta eat something. Human. Human. Human. No! I wont even touch meat. I can’t. It’s WRONG. But I need it.
Okay… maybe there’s something else. Let’s see… there’s Nathan. He always looked tasty. Lean, well kept, probably a big brain. NO! Freak. This isn’t happening. Something else. Something else… what about… those hot dogs Chris left in the fridge. Ew. Not even close. Goldfish? Crackers? Please.
Wait. What about that stupid rabbit? Xerox never really liked me much anyways. I mean, I’m sure Chris will get over it. Once this all blows over he’ll find another rabbit. Yeah. Another rabbit. Where is that damn thing?
Run. Run. Run. Walk. Play cool. Just walking by Nathan’s room. No big deal. Run.
There’s that freakin’ rabbit. Come here Xerox. Come on. I wont hurt you…

“My turn tiger.” Nathan said.
My shift flew by. I wonder how Cindy is doing. “Nap time. B.R.B.”

I wandered back to my room. I figured since Cindy wasn’t feeling well she might have forgotten to feed Xerox. I strolled over to his cage. Our furry little friend seemed a bit more rigid today, that’s odd. He stood facing the wall to my right. His wood chips were stained red. What the hell? Where is his left leg?! I looked around and saw nothing but a trail leading back to Cindy’s room. Dammit. She turned my rabbit into a freaking zombie.

This is the end. This is definitely the end. I screwed up big. I have to do something. I can’t let myself turn and remain in this house with those guys. Man, worst day ever. I’m so sorry Chris. I’m so sorry Nathan.
Rope. Chains. Something. Anything. I must stop myself. I’m throwing things across my room searching. There it is, my box of excess cables.
Lets see… we’ve got some coaxial cable, Chris told me the name, I don’t know how I remembered, some internet cable stuff, this one looks like a telephone line… and a USB cable. Perfect.
Maybe if I just wait in here with the door locked nothing will happen.
Right. Good idea, genius. No. We’re doing this.
I start with my legs. Easy. Extra tight sailor knots for these legs. Good thing my daddy was in the Navy. Good thing these knots will be tight enough for me to not escape. This is really happening.
If I just do my legs I can’t get away, and everything will be fine. This pain is excruciating. Shut up Cindy. Hands. Two Running Bowlines coming up. This is humiliating, painful, and necessary. Come on!

What the hell is all that racket? “Cindy?” I yell.
Her room is next to mine. I run to the door. “Cindy?” I repeat.
“HEEEEELP,” a scratchy voice reminiscent of Cindy’s grandmother called from inside. The door is locked. People who need help should leave their doors unlocked.
I grab the axe I keep under my bed, and rushed back to Cindy’s door. I give it a few swings, Jack Nicholson in The Shining, style, and boom, Here’s Johnny! I’m inside.
Wow. This doesn’t feel so real anymore. Cindy is tied up, completely immobilized. Her cry for help must have been her last, because now she lies completely still. Not even a beat in her chest. Worst day ever.
I couldn’t help but cry as I sat there and realized my girlfriend would be a reanimated corpse in a matter of hours. My girlfriend. My Cindy.

I had passed out on her floor and was woken by the sound of struggling. Sounds like apartment neighbors having sex on an old bed while you’re trying to sleep. What am I going to do? What can I do? I then realized there is only one thing I could do.

“Look, Cindy, I just don’t feel like things are working out between us.” I said.
“BRRAAAGGHH,” She said. Her skin was slowly muting to grey.
“I never wanted things to be this way.” Well, the zombie part; the tied up thing might have been a little kinky.
Drool seeped out of the corners of her sagging mouth. She is showing her teeth more than normal.
“I hope you can understand. I need some closure here.”
“BRRRRRRAAAAAGH!” She repeated, but louder, hissing sharp consonants. The ropes grew tighter as she pulled on them, trying to reach at me.
“You know I loved you, really. But things clearly can’t be the way they were.” Obviously, “I mean, not with the way you’re staring at my head… the same way Xerox stared at those carrots. I just don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.” I paused for a moment. “Oh wait, yes I do. Zombie infection.” I suppose now wasn’t the best time for jokes. “And seriously, Cindy, steak is delicious.” Her vegetarianism always bothered me for some reason, her pushing of gross food. I can’t help but be amused that the advocate of animal rights is thrusting towards me now, with intentions to feed. What would PETA think of this?
She vomits violently towards me and I step back. I’ll assume those are bile tears. It’s the best she can do, really.

Well, what do I do now? I’ve got a zombie rabbit, caged, and a zombie ex-girlfriend, bound. Do I put her out of her misery? Like Old Yeller or Lennie, “tending to the rabbits.” I’ve got limited resources here and need to be careful. Killing your recent ex can be quite awkward really, too many things to take into account.
I pace around her room for a few moments. All right, decision time. I’ll borrow the gun from Nathan, come down here, make it quick and easy—single shot to the head—and dump the body when we get groceries. That reminds me, I should probably tell Nathan.

“Dude, I gotta kill Cindy,” the words fell from my mouth.
“What?”
“Just give me the gun.”

I return to her room. I spend a moment or two looking deep into her green-red eyes, noticing her foaming mouth and running nose. Romantic, I know. Well, what must be done must be done, and I shoot.

“Here,” I pushed the gun back to Nathan.
“Now what?” He said.
“Grocery shopping?”

New Story

Here is my most recent piece of fiction. Its a work in progress. I had to rush the ending a little to get it in on time, so it could use a little polishing. Also, there might be a swear or two in here. Enjoy them.

Nursing Wounds
F.K.Montgomery II

The pit of my stomach is tense, begging to spew. My head is pounding thick, feeling full and dense. My limbs are burning and tingling. My fingers are asking to move but are somehow denied. In the deafening silence all I hear is a beeping. Like a metronome in a cathedral it echoes in my head. My eyes feel open but all I see is dark, and something smells like rotting egg.
“Head trauma in room four, come on in and shut the door,” a high-pitch voice says.
A cold hand with thin, inhuman fingers grabs my arm pressing on the inside of my elbow. I’m not home, am I?
“Heart-rate is one thirty two, a little high for someone like you.”
Me? I attempt to scratch out the word but hiss instead. I clear my throat to try again.
“Me? Where am I and who are you?”
“You’ll be fine Mr. Jack, I’ve got to go but I’ll be right back. You’re in safe hands here, so have no fear. This hospital is the best place for you now, I’ll return after checking a cow.”
What the hell? She’ll be back after checking a cow? Wait. I’m in the hospital? How did I get here? Am I Mr. Jack? That doesn’t sound right to me.
“Back in flash, I promised I would, helped the cow, I knew I could.”
“What are you talking about? And why are you talking that way?”
“Lets unwrap your head, you’re lucky you’re not dead. Soon you will see, things are as they should be.”
“Damnit, what is going on?”
She slowly pulled off bandages over my eyes and hair in her own time while I waited, seething, not understanding anything. As she approached the final layers light started to seep through the waffle print bandage, a fuzzy infinite grid of promised brightness. The last layer peeled past my eyes and “Holy Shit you’re a mouse!” The words slipped past me, a bullet bursting from my barrel of a mouth.
“Of course, of course, don’t be alarmed, I promise, I promise, you’ll be unharmed.”
“Well, yeah, I’m not all that concerned about a mouse harming me, but where the hell am I and why? What is going on?”
“You’re in the ICU, Mr. Jack. You seem to have fallen and given your head a crack.”

+++

Jack and Jill went up the hill, as you may well know, to fetch a pail of water. Their son was sick in bed with a cold. It was usually his job to get the water. He would carry two buckets at a time, strung to a long pole like you’d imagine him to, the pole resting on his neck. He was twelve years old and his parents were in their thirties. It was the first time they’d fetched water in recent years.
It was a warm autumn afternoon. One of the first days of the year when all the trees would decide to shed their leaves, spreading them over streets and sidewalks, yards and bikes. The green grass, sprinkled with brown and burnt orange, crunched as it was crossed. Jack crunched through the yard, keeping time with his feet after shutting the back door behind Jill, who was two measures ahead of Jack now. They began their ascent, each with a bucket in hand.
They were quiet, but not silent, enjoying the soft breeze that fall would always bring. Jack was thinking about his long day at work at the candle factory while Jill planned dinner in her head. The hill that held the well at its top was the tallest hill in town. They soon both began to think about this.
When they reached the top they were both exhausted. They sat side by side, legs crossed, Jack’s hand in Jill’s. Jack noticed for the first time in a while a twinkle in Jill’s eyes. Maybe he’d been too caught up at the candlestick factory, jumping over candlesticks constantly, or maybe he had let the flickering flame fade. But in that moment, he was lost in Jill for the first time in so long.
“Were you the one who left all the dirty dishes in the sink, honey?” Jill asked quaintly.
“Yes, Jill. It was me.”
“What the fuck Jack. I’ve told you a thousand times to put your dishes in the dishwasher.”
The couple rose to their feet immediately, the blades of grass bowing to their created draft. Jack had a look on his face, a marriage of concern and disbelief. Jill’s face was red and fiery. In Jill’s hand still, the bucket. First her right leg pivots at the knee, her flats striking Jack firm on the shin. His concern and disbelief quickly divorce and disbelief starts dating anger. Jill’s left arm flails with the turning of her body, hitting Jack firm on the neck. His anger grows up to become rage, and disbelief flees. It’s all too late after Jill nails him hard and heavy with the medal pail, square on the head.
Jack’s body falls limp over Jill’s, pulling them both back down the hill they climbed. On the way down the hill, like two rag dolls tossed down stairs, Jack’s head finds a rock in the hardest way possible, breaking his crown. Jill finds her share of bruises and cuts on the way down, applying them liberally to her appendages, as the bodies come to a rest on even ground.
“Jack….?” Jill queries, “Jack?”

+++

“Ma’am, please explain to us your side of the story.” The cop said.
“You see, officer, I warned Jack a thousand and one times, if he dirtied dishes and didn’t put them in the dish washer that it was going to be the last of him,” Jill said.
“Ma’am, despite the dirty dishes, what you did was assault. Assault on your own husband.”
“Yes, officer, I am well aware. But he brought it upon himself.”
“Yeah, we’ve heard that before. Peter Piper, the same Peter that grew up to be The Pumpkin Eater, locked up his wife up in a pumpkin because she would slip out at night. Yes, he warned her, but holding someone in captivity against his or her will is a crime. Now, I’m going to have to hold you here overnight.”
“Against my will?”
“This is different, very different.”

+++

The smell is making me sick. It’s the sterile sting of hospital floor cleaner blended with rotting egg. Dear God, that rotting egg smell! What is that?
“Ugh… man, this doesn’t look good,” A raspy voice says from behind our fabric division wall. I try to ignore it, but it goes on. “Ugh…. Ugh… is anyone out there?”
“Keep it down, I’m trying to rest.” I say as patiently as I can.
“You gotta help me. Please.”
“Look man,” and I reach up and pull the curtain over so I can look him in the eyes, “whoa.” I’m frozen in time.
“What? You’ve never seen another man’s yolk before?”
“Are you… an egg?”
“Humpty is the name. Humpty Dumpty. I’ve seen you around before. Jack, right? Look, I’m in incredible pain. I’m shattered like glass and no one can put me together again. Can you page the nurse or something?”
I don’t remember much, and talking eggs isn’t on the list. This feels more like a nightmare than anything. I reach down to my pager to call the nurse. She arrives almost immediately.
“I came quick, fast as a tick, to relieve your pain so your life will sustain,” the mouse nurse said. Geeze, this creature is annoying.
“What happened to me?” I said.
“Your wife you upset, then your life you forget. Now you are here, and things seem queer. Give it time, you’ll get used to the rhyme, things will come back, and again you’ll be Jack.”
Wow. “Ok, so, I’ve upset my wife, who I have no recollection of, I don’t remember anything, there’s a reason you’re rhyming, and eventually things will be normal again?” That sounds a little ambitious. “And I’m Jack?”
“Dude. You have amnesia.” The rotting egg said.
“Shut up you cracked out monster. I’m sorting through this.” I said.
“Look man, this place is a rough place. Just hours ago, three legally blind mice came in here all bleeding from the rear because some old hag chopped off their tails. Old King Cole died of lung cancer last week. Worst of all, some jackass left their child in a tree, in its cradle. As soon as a strong wind hit, the baby fell to the ground right before the cradle. Who knows if the fall ended that poor child or if the cradle did, but I don’t want to think about it. Things have a sick way of repeating themselves around here too. Our cases are nothing special. That means us survivors gotta stick together. I’m here for you. What little pieces are here, I just hope you can learn to offer me the same.”

+++

“So I guess we’re roommates.” Jill said to the unsightly old woman, whose wrinkles made her look like a cross between a Shar Pei and monkey.
“Looks like it,” her voice was smoky.
“What are you in for?” said Jill.
“Child neglect and abuse. Twelve accounts. The court ruled living in a shoe as unacceptable. And you know what? Back in my day, we could beat our children if we needed to. I provided what I could. It wasn’t much, but still they’d complain, one after the other, all twelve. Making ends meet can be hard; you wouldn’t believe the mortgage on a huge shoe. And with the economy…”
“Yeah, I get it. Just keep to yourself alright?”
“Sheesh. What’d the man get you for?” asked the woman.
“Husband abuse. The fool couldn’t clean up after himself. He had it coming, I swear to you. He’s probably still in the hospital. I whooped him pretty good on the head with a tin bucket, and then he took a few rolls down the hill with me. But that doesn’t matter, I told you to shut it.”
“Easy tiger. No need to get your panties in a twist on my account.”
Jill sighed at plopped herself down on her thin twin mattress with standard issue sheets, heavily starched. “Unbelievable,” she thought, “just unbelievable.”

+++

It’s been two weeks since I woke up in this unfamiliar place. It still smells the same, minus the egg rot. Poor Humpty got moved to a different facility where they said they might be able to handle his case better. Part of me worries it’s the kitchen.
I’ll be released today. Time has been crawling slowly and I am ready to leave, to return. The sad thing is that I don’t know what out there holds for me. My memory has not returned. They said they’d be surprised if it ever returned.

+++

“One hundred hours of community service,” Jill laughs, “I’m out of here!” Jill was amused at how miniscule her punishment was. She would do it again in a heartbeat if she had to. She figured she would just volunteer as a crossing guard or something for a while to let this all blow over. She wondered about Jack though.
She began her walk from downtown back home. Main Street would take her past the market, past the fabric store, past Jack’s candlestick factory, past the bakery, past Wal-Mart, past the hospital, and then it was a clear shot home.

+++

I stepped past the automatic doors, stepping from tile to concrete. At that moment I decided I would be a drifter. I’d go where the wind takes me. I’ll be none the wiser. I’m a man without a past, a blank slate. I am free.
I step from the sidewalk of the hospital onto Main Street. I watch my feet as I walk. I notice a shadow coming my way and I glance up. “Wow.” The words slip from my mouth, as I’m awestruck by her. Some woman I’ve never seen before, standing before me, still. I’m caught by a twinkle in her eye.
“Hi.” Her delicate voice says.
“Hello…” I stumble, “I’m Jack,” I say.
“Oh,” her voice says with a hint of surprise, “my name is Jill.”
“Jill. That’s a lovely name…”

+++