Zombies in Suburbia

A bomb hits a suburban town and releases toxins into the air, mutating the citizens into flesh-eating zombies. A teenager and his girlfriend survive, but she is under attack by zombies on the other side of town...

            What’s going on? Did that just happen? But why? We’re just a small town. There’s nothing here but innocent people. Who would want to do this to us? We’re not a threat to anyone.

            My head’s still dizzy from when it slammed into the wall and my back’s a little sore, but other than that, I’m okay. I’m lucky to be alive. And what luck it is. Of all days to be cleaning out my family’s bomb shelter, a bomb hits our town.

            Or at least that’s what I think it is. What else could’ve made that thunderous noise. The ground rumbled. Maybe it was an earthquake. I’ve never heard of earthquakes in Massachusetts, but ya never know. Stranger things have happened.

            Who am I kidding? Nothing happens in this town. This is a ghost town. This town is dead. Sad thing is that may actually be true. But I’m too scared to look.

            The time is quarter past five. It’s been over an hour since it hit. Whatever it is. My head stopped bleeding, thank God. I thought I’d have to go to the hospital; if there’s even a hospital to go to.

            That’s it. I have to check. I have to go out there. I need to check on my family, see if they’re okay. Please God, let them be alright. Let them be safe. I don’t ask for much. Just let my family be alive.

            I pull myself off the floor, cracking my back and neck. I walk toward the exit, but stop at the door. I take deep breaths as I muster up the courage to open the door. My hand finds its way to the knob and firmly grasps it.

            Okay, I can do this. There’s nothing to be afraid of. The worst that can happen is I’ll find that everyone I care about in this world is dead.

            Somehow I manage to push open the door and step outside. The air is cold and windy. Goosebumps run all along my body, chilling my arms, making my hairs stand up. My body shakes. I don’t know if it’s the weather or fear that does this, but I don’t like it. I have a bad feeling.

            I walk up the cold, hard steps and reach surface level. It’s worse up here. Now I know why everything is cold. It’s because everything is dead. The trees are naked, the grass is scorched, and every car is rusted and coal-black. White-picket fences aren’t so white anymore, but a musty brown. Paint peels off every house that is left standing. And there’s not a single human in sight. It’s as if Death threw a party and everyone was invited.

            Somehow my invitation got lost in the mail.

            Still in shock, I drag myself away from the wreckage. I slink across the lawn and approach my front door. With the touch of two fingers, the wood crumbles. I step over it and go inside. I search the entire first floor, but find no one. A bit scared, I slowly make my way up the stairs to the second floor. I look in every bedroom, but still, no one. No little sister in her crib sucking on the ears of her baby-blue stuffed rabbit. No older brother rocking out to heavy metal, screaming at me to shut his door. No mother nagging her husband about how he left the toilet seat up again. No father ignoring her. Everyone’s gone.

            I panic. Sweat and tears stream down the side of my face. I sit down on my mother’s bed and bury my wet face in my arms.

            They’re dead. My family is dead. Dead and gone forever. I’m alone.

            The tears stop. I wipe my eyes dry and shine a hopeful smile. 

            I totally forgot; it’s Sunday. My family must be at Church. They’re probably there now, safe and sound. The Church’s walls are pretty thick. They’re not dead. They’re alive and well; waiting for me.

            I dash down the stairs and out the door. I freeze when I see my parents standing on the front lawn.

            “Mom!” I shout. “Dad! I knew it. I knew you were alive.”

            They don’t speak or move. They just stare, mouths agape, drooling.

            “Where’s everyone else? Where are Julie and Brian?”

            No response. Only heavy breathing, throaty and coarse.

            Their eyes are bloodshot, framed with large black circles. Their skin is bone-white, pale, peeling off their bodies. Their clothes are dirty and tattered, leaving them almost naked.

            “You guys don’t look so hot. Are you alright?”

            I move toward them and extend my arms, ready to embrace. My mother copies my motions and extends her arms out, staggering forward.

            “Thank God, mom,” I exhale deeply. “For a second I thought you were –”

            My mother jumps at me and grabs my neck, showing off her yellow fragmented teeth.

            “Mom!” I throw her off me. “What the fu –”

            My father seizes my throat and opens his mouth wide, as if to bite me. My mother does the same, both of them coming at me full force, snapping their jaws like a couple of wild animals.

            I don’t have time to think. I just react. I throw my fist into my father’s face and kick him off of me. I grab my mother by her hair and punch her in the gut several times. I run backwards, never taking my eyes off of them. As they gather themselves, I turn and make my way down to the bomb shelter. I leap over the staircase and dive through the door. I quickly crawl back and close and lock the door. I press my back against it, panting and wheezing, catching my breath.

            What the f**k? What’s happened to them? Are they? Could they be? But this can’t happen. This is real life. There’s no such thing. They don’t exist.

            Zombies don’t exist.

            The pounding outside on the door makes me jump. I ignore the shudders that creep down my spine, and press my right ear against the door. I listen closely and hear snarls scratching in the wind. It’s my parents. But it’s not them. They’re not themselves. They’re dead. No, not dead, but…undead.

            How can this be? What could cause such a nightmare?

            I pace around the bomb shelter, trying to figure out how, why this is happening. Nothing makes sense. If that was a bomb that hit our town, why are they zombies? Why aren’t they dead?

            It must have been some sort of radioactive bomb. And toxic waste must have been spilled over the town. That’s the only logical explanation.

             So that means everyone in town is infected. Everyone is a zombie. There are…zombies in suburbia.

            I can’t leave here. If I do, they’ll kill me. My own parents will kill me. No, they won’t even bother to kill me. They’ll just eat me, alive, while my heart is still beating. Until they eat my heart. And then I’ll be dead. Or worse; I’ll become one of them.

            I can’t let that happen. I’d rather die. I’d rather drown in a pool of kerosene than become a brainless monster. I’d rather swim in a lake of fire and slowly burn to death. Down a bottle of cyanide. Slit my wrists. Choke on a chicken bone. Anything.

            I have enough down here to survive. It’s a bomb shelter. It’s made for survival. I’ve got food, water, blankets, everything I need. I can survive down here until…until someone saves me. Someone will come. Someone will save me.

            I grab a pillow and lie down on the floor. I rest my eyes. I breathe slowly and calmly, centering myself.

            Everything will be okay.

            I jump up. My left pocket is vibrating. I reach inside and pull out my cell phone.

            “Great,” I say aloud to myself. “Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll call for help.”

            I look down at the front screen of my phone. There’s a text message. And it’s from Alice; my girlfriend.

            I flip open my phone. The message reads: Are you alive?

            I frantically hit the buttons on the phone, ecstatic that Alice is alive. I begin to type Yes, are you? but then I realize how dumb that sounds. I quickly erase it and key in my response: Yes, how’d you survive?

            I tap my fingers on my shaking legs, eagerly waiting for her reply. I begin munching on a twinkie I found in one of the many food cartons in the shelter. By the time she responds, I’d already wolfed down a boxful.

            My phone vibrates: In my basement. Thick walls. They’re trying to break in.

            F**k, I think to myself.

            I push the little buttons at lightning speed, terrified for Alice’s life: I’m coming to get you. Just hold on.

            It’s too dangerous.

            I don’t care. I’m not letting them take you.

            You’ll get killed.

            It doesn’t matter. I’d rather die a thousand times over than to let those things do harm to you.

            Ok, fine. Just be safe.

            You know I will be.

            I spring to my feet and rush to the door.

Another vibrate: Chris?

            Yes Alice?

            I love you.

            I love you, too.

            I close my phone and shove it back in my pocket. I grip the doorknob tightly, but don’t open it.

            Alice is in trouble. I have to save her. By any means.

            I swing open the door and come out kicking. I crack my zombie-father in the face again and slam zombie-mom’s head into the concrete. I sprint into my house and run up the stairs. I fetch the duffel bag in my closet and work up an arsenal of weaponry. I grab my lighter and a pair of scissors and toss them in the bag. I rush down to the kitchen and take knives of all shapes and sizes. On my way out the door I pick up a wooden baseball bat and jump outside swinging. The bat smacks across my zombie-mom’s face and knocks her on the ground. I stand over her and contemplate my next action.

            This isn’t your mother, I think to myself. Your mother is dead. And she’s never coming back. Kill this demon that took her from you. Avenge her. Set her free.

            I raise the bat and crash it down hard against its face. Still breathing, it reaches its hand out and snarls like a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth. Without a moment’s hesitation, I lift the bat and smash its skull repeatedly. Its head cracks open and I immediately slam the bat down on its exposed brains. Pieces of soft, sticky brain fly up into my face and slide down my cheek. A little bit of brain juice trickles onto my lips and I taste it. It’s salty and stings my throat. I continue beating its face in until there’s nothing left. Black, sludge-like blood spills from its head and creates a puddle around the body. I bend down and dip my finger in it; it’s thick and gooey, like mud. I wipe it on my pants and slowly walk away from the mutilated corpse.

            When I get far enough away from the dead zombie that was my mother, I turn and tear through my backyard. I go inside my shed and collect more weaponry. Screwdrivers, hammers, wrenches, anything that looks like it could do some damage. I fill up the bag, but make sure it’s light enough to move quickly.

            “Alright, zombies. Time to meet your maker.”

            I head for the door but there’s something blocking the exit. It’s zombie-dad. He, sorry it, lets out a boorish growl and coughs up phlegm and blood.

            “Hey, dad,” I reach into the bag and pull out a couple of screwdrivers. “You want a Philip’s head or a flathead?”

             The swamp-green mucus and jet-black blood spills out of the zombie’s mouth as I jam a Philip’s head into its temple. The sludge gushes out of a small hole in its forehead and oozes down the front of its face. The zombie chokes on the chunks of blood, desperately trying to spit it out.

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” I grab another screwdriver. “You wanted a flathead, didn’t you?”

            I grip the flathead tight and stab the zombie repeatedly, ripping its throat open. A river of dark blood cascades down its chest and paints the floor black. I walk away and grab my bag. When I turn the zombie is still alive, struggling to breathe and slowly lumbering towards me.

            “Why won’t you die?” I charge the hairless beast, bat in hand. The bloodied and battered head sails off the body as I connect hard with the bat. A solid homerun.

            I step over the headless corpse and exit the shed. I walk past the zombie head that once belonged to my father, and then I realize; I have no fear. If I can stare into the eyes of my mother and father and strike a fatal blow, I can do anything. I’m unstoppable. These zombies stand no chance.

            “I’m coming for you, Alice,” I start up a steadily-increasing jog. “Don’t you worry, babe. I’m coming.”

            I rush out to the streets, duffel bag thrown over my shoulder, baseball bat in my right hand, ready to kill anything that crosses my path. Anything that tries to stop me from saving my Alice.

            I look around and see the undead everywhere. Zombies infest the streets of white suburbia. I storm the streets and attack. My bat collides with every zombie in sight, splitting skulls, breaking legs, crushing spines. I bash their brains in just in case. Even the ones that can’t chase after me, I make sure they’re dead. I show no mercy.

            Zombie blood splatters all over me and shoots into my eyes, blinding me. But I don’t stop. I swing my bat all around, bashing anything that comes near. Their blood floods the streets. Their severed limbs overflow the sidewalks. I rid my town of evil.

            “Chris!” a voice booms behind me. I whip around fast and swing my bat. I stop short when I see who it is.

            “Whoa Chris, take it easy,” my best friend Johnny cowers, the tip of the bat inches away from his skull. “It’s me. Johnny.”

            “Sorry,” I lower my bat.

            “How’d you survive, man?”

            “I was cleaning out my bomb shelter.”

            “Oh s**t, I totally forgot. How was the party?”

            “It was great.”

            “Your parents ever find out?”

            “My parents are dead, dude.”

            “Oh, my bad. Sorry man.”

            “I killed them.”

            “Oh s**t, me too.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah, man. They turned and I had to knife ‘em. Stabbed ‘em in the brains.”

            “Damn. That’s harsh.”

            “Oh well. Hey, what’s in the bag?”

            “Weapons. Alice is trapped in her basement, I gotta go save her.”

            “Aww, how romantic.”

            “Shut up, dude. You wanna help?”

            “Yeah man, of course.”

            “Alright, grab a weapon and let’s go.”

            “Can I get the bat?”

            “No, the bat’s mine.”

            “Come on, man.”

            “No,” I hold it close.

            “Chris, I have more strength and power. I could put it to better use.”

            “F**k you, the bat’s mine.”

            “Alright, fine. Toss me some knives. Oh, and let me get that hammer.”  

            I hand Johnny some large kitchen knives and he grabs the hammer. I toss the duffel bag over my right shoulder and look over at my best friend.

            “You ready?”

            “Does a dog eat its own s**t?”

            “Alright, let’s move out.”

            “Come and get some zombie-fuckers.”

            We let out a loud, hellish battle cry and charge across the bleeding pavement, armed and dangerous. Every zombie that comes our way is torn apart, limb by limb. I smash their bones to pieces while Johnny slices them open. We drench ourselves in their midnight blood as we spill their guts all over my dead town. There’s blood in the streets, it’s up to my ankles.

            “This way!” I shout over the ghoulish groans.

            “I can’t hear you!” Johnny shouts as he bashes a zombie’s head with the dull point of the hammer. The zombie’s left eye pops out of its socket as the hammer pounds the brains deeper into its skull.

            “Alice’s house is this way,” I jam the end of my bat down a zombie’s throat. The ugly brute rips the bat from my hands and throws it behind him. It gets lost in a pile of zombies, both dead and undead. The zombie trudges toward me. I turn to run but trip over my own feet. I scramble backwards, out of the zombie’s reach. I shuffle through my duffel bag and pull out…a butter knife and a fork.

            I look at my cell phone; 5:43. What’s for dinner?

            “Chris!”

            I look over and see Johnny get trampled by a horde of brain-thirsty zombies.

            “Johnny!” I cry as I watch my friend become devoured by brainless savages. I grab the pair of scissors from my bag and shoot myself into the pile of dead things. I land on one of their backs and stab it in the head until the beast crashes to the ground. I stick every zombie surrounding Johnny, stabbing hard, stabbing deep. I drag him away from the vicious swarm and kneel down beside his mutilated remains.

            “Johnny!” I scream, shaking his limp body anxiously. “Johnny-boy, you there?”

            “C-Chris,” his eyes struggle to peel open, like an eagle trying to spreads its broken wings after a mighty fall. The sky turns purple and dark as Johnny pushes out his last few words. “Tell Alice I said hi.”

            “I will,” a single tear drips down my cheek. “I’ll tell her, Johnny. I’ll tell her.”

            With that, I propel myself off the ground and sprint down the bloody streets of zombie suburbia. I run and run and run, shouting Alice’s name every few seconds. My knees feel like they’re going to collapse, but I don’t stop running. Not until I reach her doorstep, my face layered in sweat and fear.

            “I’m coming, babe!” I bust down the unlocked door and fly into her house. Zombies meet me every which way, with every turn of a corner. I slide past them, throw them through windows, whatever it takes to get to Alice.

            “Chris, is that you?” Alice shrieks from down the basement.  

            “I’m here, Alice. Let me in.”

            Footsteps scamper up the stairs. The door swings open and Alice greets me with brightest eyes and a sparkling smile.

            “Chris!” she wraps her small arms around my depleted body. I embrace her, and hold her tight. “I love you, Chris. I’ll be with you forever, until the day I die.”

            Just then a zombie creeps up behind me and sinks his eroded teeth into my arm. Blood pours out of my arm and trickles down the basement stairs.

            “Chris?” Alice cries.

            “Hey Alice?” I hold out my hand.

            “Yes?”

            “Until the day you die?”           

 

Author's Note

what do you think of the beginning monologue? too boring/slow-moving, or relative to the progress of the story? be honest.

Reviews

[Political Punk ~~ CBD]

its not the greatest start but it does get the story moving better than something else to open it up. Very nice piece

[VanillaNinja13]

I don't like that its in first person but other than that is pretty cool. But I didn't think the beginning was a little too drawn out.

[PhoeniX]

this was freakin great! you did wonderfully writing this out as a short story.