Chapter One:

 

AETERNO UMBRA

Chapter One:

1985 was a good year to die

“Reach out to me as if from the grave…I try to run, but I’m tied to you like a slave.”

-Judas Priest

    

SUNDAY, JUNE 7^th, 1985 6:29pm

“It was early spring when the world came to a s**t screaming halt.  I remember my good friend Alvin telling me about these huge army trucks with long trailers going by his house really late at night and driving up to the fenced in hill about a mile from his house. But we never thought anything of it. However, Everything and everyone that I had known were all gone. All because a few f*****g a*****e politicians had to play catch up with daddy and send our world into an evil abyss that which we will never be able to make right.

Now its June and I should be walking across the stage of Noiram Junior and Senior High school and shaking hands with old man Stubbins, with a smile on my apathetic face and thinking about getting the hell out of this s**t town. Instead, here I am knee deep in a muddy hole, burying my parents and the rest of my family, but they won’t be getting up again like so many others have, no sir! I made sure of that with a deer slug pleasantly placed in each one of those m**********r’s foreheads! It sucked to do it, but I know what would have happened if I didn’t. The only living thing close to me that survived was our dog Mayko. A pudgy old yellow lab with more personality than most people I have ever met. It was he and I now, alone against the world and those nasty f*****g zombies!!!!

…Man I hate zombies!!!”

 

Warren put down the pen and notebook he is writing his thoughts in and goes out to do his daily security rounds around his family five-acre property. It is heavily wooded parcel out in the sticks, that his dad had purchased before he was born. Offered the benefit of being close enough to his work for Computex, while still being in the country enough to keep the urban sprawl at bay for at least a few years anyway.  Warren is well aware just how lucky is with this upstate New York location. Nestled in western Wayne county, the small town of Noiram is fairly remote and that keeps the population down a bit as opposed to the nearest big city Rochester, which is by now teeming with thousands of flesh eating undead. The terrorist’s attacks, while devastating all major metropolitan cities, generally have left small towns such as Noiram relatively unscathed.

Warren hasn’t seen a living soul in over two months and he was more than happy with that. It isn’t that he doesn’t like people; it’s just that he has had quite a hard time growing up in a Podunk town with all the rednecks and judgmental people.    “Its never easy being the fat kid!”  Warren would always tell himself. Always the butt of all the cruel jokes and he was forever getting the hateful fingers pointed in his direction and hearing a chorus of cutting laughter. He feels so much resentment towards some of his classmates, more than anyone would ever know. There was part of him that was grateful for the attacks because he no longer had to face those cruel a******s again!

With systematic timing Warren walked the fence perimeter, 12 gauge Ithaca Deerslayer in one hand and binoculars in the other. Trusty Mayko by his side, tail wagging, big pink tongue hanging, oblivious to all that has happened in the world.

 “Lucky b*****d!” Warren thought to himself as he reached the next gate, securing the rusty but strong chain and lock. But he still missed some form of human companionship. He had a few close friends, fellow geeks and outcasts that all shared the same painful social fate as he. He missed them now. He wiped a tear from his chubby, mud-smeared cheek as he made his way down a slow ravine to the next gate. How he missed those late night DnD games. On a sugar-laden high, He spent many an hour with his group of friends playing role-playing games. Creating imaginary avatars to replace within them all that felt inferior and lacking by the day’s standards of the norm. Playing great paladins of strength and rouges of dexterity, they would change the course of their imaginary world and become great heroes. Hours spent in those worlds to make up for all that felt pathetic and lesser….”Those f****n’ assho…”

Warren’s thoughts were cut off because a loud rustling from the other side of the barbed wire fence…. Mayko stood still; tail still wagging but head cocked and nose sniffing with amazing dexterity. Warren had not heard nor seen any sign of life in over two months and he could feel the blood drain from his face and his grip tighten on the old gun once owned by his late father. The noise now seemed to ricochet all around him. With a one jerky motion, Warren raised the shotgun to his eye, thick, coke-bottle glasses pressed against his now red face. “Easy boy!” he whispers to his faithful companion. He feared that the usually sedentary yellow lab might run off and get himself killed and leave him alone. “Selfish f**k!” Warren thought to himself as he made a quick glance at his four-legged pal. Still standing next to him, Warren squinted to see as the sun was slowly setting behind the western clouds.

Nothing moved. All was silent. “Silent as the dead”. Warren nervously chuckles to himself, trying to calm his nerves. Mayko steps forward, now growling a low, guttural sound that scared even his master. “What is it boy? He meekly whimpers.

Creek, crack!!! A loud creaking of a large limb resounded in the ravine to the left of Warren’s position. He swivels the barrel of the shotgun to the left. But nothing came rushing out of the thick brush.  CRUNCH!!!! The brush gives way off to his right and he can hear the moans even before he swings the Ithaca to meet the sound.

Out of the darkened brush come two rushing forms. From the few seconds Warren has to see, analyze and recognize, it was a man and a woman. Or they once were living creatures. The stench of rot and decay fills his nostrils and it takes all he can to not to double over and vomit. The two undead forms rush into the concertina wire as if it wasn’t even there. “Holy s**t! They feel no pain!’ he thought to himself as he fought to regain his composure. Just then, the male, dressed in a rotting red and white plaid shirt and well-worn blue jeans bore into the razor wire. Not caring of the ripping of its flesh, only to get to its food, it pressed forward with a thrash! . It’s Primitive brain functions were the only thing this evil creature knew now. That function was to feed!!!

With a loud echoing Moan, a woeful cry it let out as it tried to get to Warren. Green, brownish skin, flayed open in several spots covered its body. Oily greenish puss escaped its body all over. Its black eyes transfixed on its prey. Grayish black matted hair adorned its rotting skull. A blackish-gray mustache thrashed above its hungry maw.

“Oh my god, NO!!!” Warren shouted unaware of his volume, as he suddenly recognized his undead attacker. “Goddammit! He screams as he steps back as the man and woman fought against the now puss covered fence. “ Mr Gossman!” He thought to out loud, finding himself shouting again.

Once a pastor in the local church, and long time neighbor, and more importantly a mentor to Warren as he searched for self-identity and answers about God.  Now his one-time mentor is a rotting godless creature that begged of forgiveness and absolution.  As Warren put two and two together, he quickly shifted his attention to the shambling moaning creature to the left of his old mentor, and yes, it was Mrs. Gossman! A Sturdy woman of few words but powerful stare Even many days perhaps week’s dead; she still held that powerful controlling glare.   

Mayko rushed towards the threatening dead as valorous as any cavalier Warren had ever seen to defend his master. If it weren’t for Warren’s quick reaction, the adorable, loyal lab would have been dinner for the ravenous neighbor zombies from over the hill. Warren snagged his collar at the last second to pull him back just as the ex- Mr. Gossman swiped a bloody gnarled hand at the elderly pooch.

Before Warren could eve notice, the shotgun let fly two towards the encroaching zombies. The first sunk deep into Mrs. Grossman; ripping through her left breast, greenish black flesh, following the slug. The second bore into her forehead making a quick escape for the once, intensely filled brain.

Warren stepped back in panic as Mr. Grossman breeched the razor wire, leaving the majority of his right arm behind as a sacrifice. Stepping through the wire, mouth agape, Warren staggered and fell to the ground. The sun, now sinking deep into the western sky, cast an ominous shadow upon Mr. Gossman’s face as it lunged toward him hungrily. The love this man once had, the pious advice and peaceful calm he once instilled upon his congregation now was replaced with unbridled and evil hunger. And his target was Warren.

    Warren desperately back peddled as fast as his large frame could carry him. The undead pastor lunged after him with an unearthly growl. Warren rolled as Mayko moved to put his four legged self between the evil attacker and his master. The yellow lab bite at the puss oozing priest and snipped at the air as the undead creature reacted to the canine attack. Warren rolled away and tried to gain his balance. Mayko continued his staunch defense and was holding his ground as the undead creature swung with its claw-like hands at the loyal canine. As Warren raised the shotgun, he heard a high-pitched sound, with all-knowing tears in his eyes; warren raised the shotgun toward his once revered mentor…”Forgive me!” warren prayed.

…The blast echoed deafeningly through the valley.