This is my Terror Tuesday for the Graveyard group on Facebook.
WARNING: THIS IS FOR ADULTS ONLY! LANGUAGE AND SCENES ARE VERY VIVID!
Snow Of Blood
How many days, how many nights have I been holed up in this fucking shit-hole? Too damned many!
It doesn’t really matter. There’s no place I have to go; nothing I have to do. Living would be good, though. That’s all that matters now.
My supplies are still in good shape. Water, food: yeah, I have enough for months. I thought ahead, not even knowing this was going to happen, but then again, no one knew. All at once . . . all at once everything changed. Forever. There is no going back. And the future? That’s a fucking pie-in-the-sky dream. I don’t even think they have a future.
The cold is brutal. Shit! I have beer stashed away in coolers with blankets around the bottles so they don’t explode on me. At least I have some. It helps a bit: takes the edge off; relaxes me.
I could light up my kerosene heaters for some warmth, but there’s not enough air flow down here. I need to breathe for God’s sake. Following the light of a battery operated lantern, I tip-toe to the corner of my piece of domesticity, grab a thick blanket, and throw it around me after checking to make certain there are no varmints hidden within its folds. No way do I want them on me.
The undead are walking around upstairs in their own special way, dragging useless limbs around, some of them even crawling because they have no legs. Yet, they continue to move. Nothing stops them. The blood lust keeps them going, an insatiable desire to feed and feed some more.
The stench of rotting flesh comes through the floor-boards triggering an urge for me to retch and lose the contents within my stomach, but I hold it back: I have to. I can’t let them know I’m down here. They’ll tear through the floor and remove every piece of flesh from my body they can. There’s not much waste when they feed.
I remember the night I tried to save my neighbors from their attacks. Susy: my God, they grabbed her, savagely tore off her clothing, and fed on her as if they were human piranhas: undead, grotesque humans. While one ripped through her stomach, grabbing her innards and feasting on them like long sausages, another one worked his way up her thighs, tearing off huge chunks of her legs in his yellow and black teeth. Then he reached her pussy and savagely devoured every morsel while her body was still jerking around, trying to resist. In seconds, her womanhood was destroyed.
Fred, her husband, and I tried to beat them back, slamming into them with axes sitting next to the fireplace, but as soon as one was knocked off of her, another would take its place. There was no stopping them. The taste of her blood was in the air and they wanted to drink it all.
As her breasts were being ripped apart and devoured, Fred was dragged down, dropping next to her, and they feasted on both of them. There was nothing I could do. The monsters were everywhere. Even with their heads removed, they still came in to feed, pathetically trying to eat through their blood-gushing necks.
It was crazy! It made no sense!
I kicked the heads I had chopped off out of my path, their teeth still chomping about trying to get a piece of me, and high-tailed it out of there.
Once outside, I ran through the blood-soaked snow towards my house, but I stopped before I got there.
Shit, if they follow me, they’ll know where I’m at, and sooner or later, they’ll come after me, making a meal out of my carcass. I have to make sure their attention is diverted away from me. But how? What the fuck am I going to do?
For the moment, Fred and Susy were foremost on their minds: if they had any damn minds. But new zombies were arriving, and there would be nothing left of my neighbors.
The barn! I will get the cows out of the barn! Yes! Create a fucking diversion. Let them feast on the cows.
I rushed to the barn, started rounding up the stock, and stopped. The cows . . . the cows: they were zombies, too! Their faces were distorted, pieces of hide coming down all over, exposing huge swaths of bleeding flesh; their eyes were half in and half out of their sockets. Most of them had pulpy masses of bulbous tissue where their ears had been, and the monsters’ teeth lay exposed, since they no longer had a true mouth.
They grinned at me: the grin of the walking dead.
Fuck! Time to get out of this shit-hole! But . . . but here come the human zombies through the barn door. I’m so fucked!
I was trapped! Zombie cows on one side and zombie once-humans on the other.
Before I could react, the human ones charged, but they charged the cows; not me. Whatever human instincts they still possessed told them that the cows were food. The cows, on the other hand, did not take kindly to becoming fodder for the attackers and charged back, no longer possessing the contentment of their species.
Zombies were going for the soft spots on the cows, digging deep into their brains, gorging on the delicious gray matter before them. Others tore off their udders, feasting on them before digging inside to remove their stomachs and guts. The big animals were going down.
But not all of them.
Some cows used their size to advantage, stepping on the advancing human zombies, breaking bones in their feet and legs, and pinning them to one place while they chewed away at them. Both sides were losing troops, but the battle waged on, and through the mire created by bloodied body parts, cow hide pieces, and intestines strewn around and shoved into the barn floor, I saw my chance to escape.
Zombies were still entering the barn through the front door, so my only chance to leave was the side entry. Carefully, I threaded my way around the combatants, past the empty stalls, and out into the cold night.
Shit! I wasn’t safe out there either. Birds, day birds, birds that should have been asleep, attacked me now, cutting me up with their talons and beaks.
Fuck! If this infestation of zombies is caused by disease, I could catch it through the cuts I’m receiving. Blood-borne pathogens. I don’t know what caused this. Damn it! To safety: I have to get home!
I pulled my clothes around me as best I could to shield myself from the birds’ attacks. They were relentless, refusing to stop coming after me. No human zombies followed me, but these flying bastards stayed with me all the way to my house. I had all I could do to get my keys out of my pocket and unlock the padlock on the steel doors covering the entrance to my root cellar.
Mother fuckers just won’t leave me alone. I can’t allow any of them to get downstairs. If they’re like everything else, nothing will stop them. How do I kill what’s already dead but refuses to accept the fact? Other than the intelligence they use to find food, they’re mindless. Shit, I hope they are, anyway! If these things can think, it’s pretty much over.
Using a shovel sitting next to the house, I slammed into the birds and managed to keep them away from the entry as I scurried below, closing the doors behind me. I waited a few seconds before putting the lock on the cellar side of the doors. Why I put a place to attach a lock on both sides seemed strange at the time, but it saved my ass. Shit, I guess it was actually to keep Fred out of here while I was working on things.
Thanks for being such a pain-in-the-ass jerk, Fred. You saved my hide.
What a fucking night from hell that was! I haven’t ventured out since that night. Shit! I have to make sure it’s safe before I leave here. At first I thought the zombies were nocturnal, but they’re not. I hear them walking around at all times of the day and night. It’s unnerving. Surely by now you would think they would leave from upstairs. I’m the only person in this house. There is no food for them. Maybe one group comes in after the previous bunch leaves.
I must keep my curiosity in check: as much as I want to know what’s going on in the world beyond my cellar, I’m safe here and need to accept that. Is anyone else in the area alive? Maybe. Maybe not. For now at least, it’s not worth venturing out to find the answer.
It’s dark and dingy down here. The walls are dirt and block, and there are no windows anywhere. Food is basically canned goods. A lot of the old survivalists swore on stocking bags of beans and rice and shit, but when you have no way to cook them, what good does that do? And besides, the fucking mice could burrow down into the bags. I’m not worried about the mice eating my food, but it would sure give them a place to hide and come after me later when I unsuspectedly slipped my hand in to get some food out. Like the rest of the vermin on the planet, they have turned. Maybe it’s not tasty to eat cold canned goods, but they’re safe to eat.
My water is stored in those old green army cans. Nothing will gnaw through them. The entire perimeter of the cellar is packed with food and water, several rows deep. Once my supplies go down, I will have to figure out another plan, but that won’t happen any time soon.
Thank God for my coolers and beer! It’s not like I drink a lot: I don’t dare; I would knock into things and alert the zombies to my presence. Getting too high would come at a price.
There is only one way in or out: the metal doors that lead to the outside. There is no entry from the house proper. When I first moved in, I thought that was a bit inconvenient, but not anymore. The bastards can’t rip through a door from above and charge down here.
Sleep . . . sleep does not come easy anymore. I no longer sleep for hours on end, content that all is well and upon waking I will be ushered into the dawn of a new day filled with hope and promise. This existence must be what early man faced: always on the look-out for the carnivores ready to bring them down and eat them. Evolution is down the fucking toilet now.
Speaking of the toilet, I use the latest in indoor plumbing facilities: an emptied water container. It has a lid that can be securely fastened, at least. Even with that I have to be quiet lest I alert the zombies to my presence.
I’m tired; I need to rest. My bed is warm at least: it’s a coffin that I refurbished a little with extra padding and a lock inside and outside like the steel doors. Yes, I’m paranoid, but it’s kept me alive. I’ll err on the side of safety.
Slipping inside, I pull the top down and lock it. This particular model was built for a large man, so it’s roomy and allows for extra blankets to combat the cold. I listen for awhile to make certain all is secure and rapidly fall off to sleep.
The steel doors rattling around wake me! Something or things is pounding on them. What the fuck . . .
I hear them slam backwards to the sides, ripped off the moorings. Shit! They’re going to come down here! I have to stay still. No noise. I can’t make a sound. Maybe they’ll go away. Maybe they won’t know I’m in this coffin. Am I ever glad I have a lock on it!
They come downstairs, not making the dragging sounds they usually do. And they’re talking. They’re alive! I’m not alone!
“Shine your light around, George,” one of them says. “That old coot Harry supposedly stocked this joint up good with food. Fred was telling me all about the times he saw him bringing stuff down here. I’m fucking hungry. I hope he was right.”
“Lookee here, John! This place is loaded with canned goods. And water. Wow! And everybody thought Harry was crazy. Shit, crazy like a damned fox!”
“But where the hell is he? This place was locked from the inside and I don’t see any other way down here. Wait! There’s a fucking coffin here. You don’t suppose . . .”
“I’m not about to open it. If he’s dead, he’s dead. We got food. Let’s eat.”
Fuck! Now what? Should I get out of here here and join them? I suppose I should. They destroyed the entryway to the cellar. It’s not going to be safe here anymore. I can’t repair that alone with the damn birds and all. It’s the safety in numbers thing now. Of course, I don’t think they have the brains the birds have.
Before I can unlock the coffin to crawl out, I hear the zombies upstairs. Shit! They’re going to be down here soon. These guys are making a ton of noise. No way they won’t know people are down here. My new buddies have sounded the dinner gong.
After what seems like an eternity, I get out of the coffin and shine my lantern on the guys.
“What the fuck . . . !”
“Never mind the small talk,” I say. “Those zombies upstairs will be down here any second. We have to get the fuck out of here! Now!”
The words are no more out of my mouth than I smell their foul stench approaching. One of the guys shines his flashlight at the entryway. It is completely filled with the bastards. My safe haven is no longer safe.
George, John, and the other two guys are glued to the dirt floor. They don’t know what to do.
“Machetes!” I holler. “I have machetes in the corner. Grab some!”
The five of us grab the weapons and attack them before the zombies can get out of the landing area. We slash away, tearing them to pieces, removing arms, legs, heads, and more. My machete finds the gut of one of them and his intestines come out in a steaming pile which never even hit’s the dirt. The monster grabs them and starts eating his own internal organs, smiling as he does so.
Sliced off hands come after us, walking on the dirt floor, digging their nails into us. The feet kick their way around causing a couple of the guys to stumble and fall to the floor where the severed heads latch on and go on a feeding frenzy.
These bastards are like segmented worms: each severed part can exist on its own. But worms were never like these guys, although zombie worms must be the same as what we‘re facing
The zombies keep coming. There is no way out. We’re doomed. Our end will come in this fucking cellar amongst the blood and gore surrounding us. What happens, happens. I will not go down without a fight. Maybe, just maybe, an opening will come up for escape. The chances are slim, but . . .
Soon, there are only two of us left to fight the demons. The others are either dead and being devoured or are in their death throes, dancing with the Devil. We continue swinging the machetes, even as the zombies start feeding on us.
I am dragged down, my machete knocked from my hand. Their overpowering stench is all around me. Teeth are chewing away at my intestines; I only have one arm still attached to my body.
With what remains of me, I resist, not wanting to take the easy way. Excruciating pain rips through my groin as they tear my balls and dick off, one of the bastards having the gall to come near my face with my testicles dangling down from his deformed mouth, shaking them at me as if he’s carrying a trophy in his teeth.
I try to reach him with my other arm, only to find I have lost that one as well. My legs are not working anymore either. There is no way for me to resist.
A tearing, crunching sound rips through the cellar. With what nerve endings I have remaining, I feel teeth tearing into my brain.
Now, there is no more pain.
There is nothing . . .