Gruesomely Grimm Zombie Tales Part 3

He reached for it, but John blocked his way. "I promised your dad that I wouldn't let you in that room. It's just gonna bring you nothing but trouble...and me in the process."

"I don't believe you," John argued. "And if I don't go in, I'm sure it will make me crazy. Day and night, I'll be fixated on it. In fact, I'm not budging until you open that door."

John realized there was no way around it. With a heavy heart, he sighed and took the key from the ring. He opened the door and went in first hoping to perhaps knock the telescope askew. A lot of good that did. Junior had never seen outside the walls of the compound, and sat for quite a while scanning the ruins of a civilation overrun by the undead. When he spied the other compound, he was so excited that he jumped up, hit his head, and knocked himself out cold.

John scooped up the young man and carried him back to his room. This won't go well at all, John thought. If Junior is anything like his dad, John had no doubt he'd want to find a way to that other compound where there were actual women?

When Junior came to, the first words out of his mouth were, "Did you see the absolute babes kickin' it over at the other compound?"

"You mean the blonde with the long golden tresses and the huge rack?" John couldn't help but sigh.

"And we haven't had any women here for so long," Junior continued. "I'd cross a thousand zombie infested blocks just to have a shot at that. You gotta help me on this, John."

John thought it over, then realized that the one thing he hadn't seen in the other compound was any kind of fruit tree; whereas, they had two beautiful apple trees that produced delicious apples that made the tastiest golden-hued brandy.

"Go and bring me two casks of your dad's supply of apple brandy," John said. "We will sneak over to that compound disguised as travellers. People have almost no tolerance for alcohol these days. We shall get everybody drunk and bring the girl back with us. We'll leave the second cask behind as payment. After all, we aren't barbarians."

They each secured a cask on their backs, selected a few choice weapons, and slipped out through one of the secret exits. The journey was perilous and would make for an exciting tale of its own, but eventually they arrived at the gates of the other compound.

Once inside, John told Junior to hang back and let him do the talking. He quickly went into a spiel about how they were travellers from far away, and that zombies had managed to knock down their main security gate. He told the small crowd gathered around that they had managed to salvage a couple of casks of apple brandy and would willingly part with one if allowed to stay. The members of the compound agreed and decided to throw a bit of a party.

Once the party was in full swing, John sidled up beside the golden-haired beauty that Junior was so infatuated with. Twice he refilled her cup while engagning her in polite conversation. He showed her the second cask of brandy after a while.

"I actually know a place where there is much more," John whispered in her ear. "Not only that, but there are apple trees heavy with fresh fruit."

"I would give anything to sink my teeth into a ripe, red apple," the woman-who revealed her name to be Sarah-sighed.

"Actually," John said as he refilled her cup again, "if you would like, I'll show you."

"Maybe you could just bring some apples to me," Sarah slurred.

"But why settle for a few apples when I offer the tree?"

"Fine," she agreed, the alcohol now firmly clouding her sense and judgement. "Take me to this place and show such treasures as an actual apple tree."

John smiled and poured her another cup. He watched as, one by one, the revellers staggered off to find a place to sleep, then he led her to the gate where Junior had waited patiently. When Junior saw her up close, he was thrilled to discover that she was even more beautiful in person.

They slipped out the gate, but it was close to sunrise. So as soon as they had gotten far enough away that the other compound was in sight, they found an abandoned building to hide in and barricade themselves for the day.

When she awoke, Sarah was horrified to discover her dilemma. She looked back and forth between the old man who'd gotten her drunk, and the young, handsome and muscular man who'd arrived at the gates of the compound that she'd called home early the previous day.

"Please," she cried in horror, "I don't know if you're rapists or cannibals...but if you're gonna kill me, do it quickly."

"Easy, Sarah," Junior took her hand and patted it gently, "you don't want to bring the zombies down on us. Actually, I have a compound even bigger than the one you were in. And John wasn't kidding about the apple trees. I'm sorry about getting you drunk and stealing you away from your people, only, from a tower in my compound, I saw you through a telescope and fell madly in love with you. And I mean that literally, because when I stood up, I hit my head and knocked myself out."

Sarah laughed at his humor and found herself similarly attracted to him. In no time, the two agreed to be married once they returned to Junior's compound where she would live even more comfortably than she had before, and be able to eat all the apples she desired.

That afternoon, while Junior and Sarah napped and they waited for an open window of opportunity in which to travel, John had a vision. In this vision he saw three ravens who began to converse.

"Look, he's taking Sarah-with-the-golden-tresses home with him," the first raven cawed.

"So he is," answered the second, "but he hasn't got her yet."

"What do you mean he hasn't got her yet?" cried the third. "He's got her right there snuggled in his arms."

The first spoke again and said, "A lot of good that will do him! When they exit this dilapidated building, he will spy a recently abandoned Harley that looks like it will run. He'll want to climb on, and if he does, it will rocket out of his control and he'll never live to see his wedding chamber."

"Is there no way of saving him?" asked the second raven.

"Oh yes, if somebody else jumps on quickly and rips the wires from the mighty motor, then the chopper will be just another piece of junk and Junior will be saved. But who knows that? And if anyone knows and tells, he'll be turned to a zombie after being bitten on the leg."

"I know something more," said the second raven. "Even if the chopper is disabled, Junior won't be able to hook up with Sarah. When they reach the compound together, he will see what appears to be a cool bottle of water, but it is really a poison made to keep down the rats, and if he drinks it, it will burn a hole in his guts."

"Is there no way of saving him?" asked the third raven.

"If somebody handles the bottle, preferably with gloves to keep it from possibly getting on their skin, and throws it in the fire and burns it up, then Junior will be saved. But what's the good of that! If anyone knows and tells him, he is fated to be attacked by a zombie within the day and have his guts torn from his body."

"I know more still," said the third raven. "Even if the chopper is disabled and the poison disposed of, Junior won't live to hook up with his hot new chicky. After the wedding, there will be a party. While Sarah is shaking her groove thing, she will suddenly turn pale and fall down as though dead. Unless somebody lifts her up and sucks three drops of blood from her right breast and spits them out, she will die. But if someone knows it and tells, he will fall prey to a pack of zombies and be completely torn to bits from head to toe."

When the ravens finished their conversation, they flew away. Good old John had heard every word, and these days, people who used to take certain medications to keep from seeing imaginary friends or talking animals were left to suffer with their psychosis. John sat silent and sad, because if he didn't tell Junior what he had heard, Junior would come to know much grief, and if he did tell, he would be forfeiting his own life. In the end he thought, I will save Junior, even if I have to die for it.

When they finally had an open window where there were no zombies in sight and left the building, it so happened that there was a Harley on its side in the road-exactly where it lay when they pa.s.sed in on their way to meet Sarah.

"Cool chopper." Junior nodded towards the bike, and John ran over to it and ripped at every wire he saw coming from the mighty engine.

"Does he flip out like that often?" Sarah whispered.

"Sometimes he seems a bit kooky," Junior whispered in response. "And every once in a while, I see him talking to thin air, but he's a good enough old dude."

When they reached the compound late that afternoon, John showed Sarah to what would be their room. Thirsty, he picked up a bottle of water from his table, but John ran over, s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hands and tossed it into the fireplace where it promptly extinguished the flames. He hadn't bothered to remove the gloves he'd been wearing while they were out in the zombie infested ruins. But now he peeled those off and tossed them in the fireplace, too.

"What the h.e.l.l is his problem?" Sarah asked again.

"Sometimes he just does things," Junior shrugged. "But deep down he always means well. Really, babe, John's a good dude. Maybe he just needs some rest."

Later that day, the wedding ceremony was performed. Sarah was blown away by how well-stocked this compound was compared to her old one. Also, as promised, there were plenty more apples...and apple brandy. Not used to it, she drank way too much. As the party hit its stride, Sarah began to feel the effects of the hooch. John had stood on the fringe the entire time, just watching. Suddenly, Sarah turned pale and pa.s.sed out in a drunken stupor.

John leaped into action, scooping her up, and carrying her to Junior's bedroom. He laid her out on the bed, ripped open her blouse, took his knife and cut away her bra. Making a slice on her right breast, he sucked three drops of blood and spat them out. Sarah, pained by the slice to her breast, began to regain consciousness.

About that time, Junior caught up and burst into the room. All he saw was his new bride on the bed with her s.h.i.+rt ripped, her bra sliced open, blood dripping down one breast, and John holding a knife with blood smeared on his mouth.

"You've gone too far this time, you crazy old b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Junior yelled. "Toss him over the wall!"

John begged and cried as he was led to the wall. He told about the three ravens and all they said. He explained how he was only trying to save Junior and his new bride.

"I've always been faithful to you!" John wailed.

"You're a lunatic!" Junior replied. "Birds can't have conversations. At best, they might say 'Pretty Bird,' but that's about it."

John was tossed over the wall and torn apart by the waiting pack of zombies below. A couple of people joked about how at least he got that last part right.

7.

Murphy's Deal Based on: Der gute Handel The sun rose to reveal that a small caravan of survivors had set up beside a tiny creek. This was larger than some, smaller than others, just shy of a hundred members. They'd been forced to move from their last settlement when a lightning strike had set the nearby forest on fire. For two weeks they travelled in search of a new home. At last, they'd found a good spot.

n.o.body knew that they were beside what had once been known as the Sandy River. In fact, not one actually knew they were in what had been known as the state of Oregon. The zombie rising of almost five years ago had made all that unimportant. The only thing that was important was surviving...and not getting bitten.

Travelling with this band was an old man that everyone had taken to calling Murphy because of the empty plastic container of Murphy's Soap that he carried clutched in his gnarled hands. It was agreed that, as long as he remained harmless, he could stay under the protection of the group. Murphy was what many used to refer to as "bats.h.i.+t crazy."

One day, shortly after the group had set up their new camp, Murphy found a pair of leather boots. Granted, they still had the feet in them, but Murphy spent the morning digging them out. Once he was done tidying up his prize, he went to hang them from a tree to dry in the sun. It was in the tall gra.s.s that he spied a legless zombie creeping about.

The zombie opened its mouth and let out a moan that sounded like "Mwyarrboo." Of course, to crazy Murphy, it sounded exactly like "My boots."

"Bless me," he said to himself. "The poor creature doesn't know what it's talking about. Poor thing doesn't even have legs. It certainly couldn't claim such a fine pair of boots." When he walked over to where the creature was struggling in the thick brambles, he poked it with a stick. "What stupid things zombies are! Don't you even know that you are missing your legs?"

The zombie craned its head and moaned again, "Mwyarrboo."

"Is that right?" Murphy challenged. "Well then, let's see you put them on." And he set the boots beside the legless corpse. Of course, the zombie completely ignored them and continued crawling towards the crazy old man. As it crawled, it managed to get its hands caught inside the boots.

"Oh, I see. That's how it is, eh?" Murphy scowled. "Well if that's the way you want to be, then you can keep the ratty old things."

Murphy stomped back to the encampment in a foul mood. He was certain he could still hear the legless zombie groaning about his boots.

As the days pa.s.sed, the survivors erected fences, created gardens, and tried to do their best to survive. They allowed Murphy to come and go. Sometimes he would bring back useful trinkets like a hand trowel, a hammer, or a Garden Weasel. Other times, he would bring back useless garbage like an empty bleach bottle-although n.o.body ever thought to call him Clorox when he began wearing it around his neck in place of the old Murphy's Soap bottle.

One afternoon, Murphy returned with a pair of leather gloves. As usual, he wandered about alone and, as he was making his way through some wild blackberry bushes, he came across a zombie with no arms. It had once been a child of perhaps seven years of age. Murphy had a tenuous grip on reality at best and didn't actually see zombies for what they are. Therefore, all he saw was a child.

"Gmmwaree," the armless child-zombie moaned.

Murphy heard "For me?" and considered his newfound gloves. "You're asking if I found these gloves for you? Well I really want them, I'll give them to you, but," Murphy studied the child all tangled in the th.o.r.n.y bush, "I don't think I should just give them away and get nothing in return. Perhaps your family can have me over for dinner in a few nights. I think I know who your parents are," he said as he stuffed the gloves into the raggedy jeans barely clinging to the zombie-child's hips.

As he walked away, he heard more moans and such coming from the thick brush, but he dismissed it as children being children. Will you listen to that, he thought as he walked back to the encampment, now they all want new gloves. But I got a dinner out of it.

Three days pa.s.sed and Murphy figured it would be a good time to cash in on his free dinner. He wandered about the compound looking for the child he'd given the gloves to. Finally, he saw a youngster playing in front of a dark green tent who was similar in age and therefore...the child he sought.

Murphy walked up to the man sitting in front of the tent skinning a pair of squirrels for the night meal and asked when he should come for dinner. The man looked at Murphy like he'd lost his fool mind and told him he must be crazy. (Which in fact, he was.) "Why would you think I'm crazy?" Murphy asked. "I only want my dinner. Didn't your child show you the gloves I traded to him a few days ago out by the blackberry bushes?"

That made the man angry. Everybody knew that children weren't allowed outside the safety of the encampment. He picked up a nearby baseball bat and chased the crazy man away.

"Just you wait," Murphy called over his shoulder. "There's still some justice left in the world."

He went to the big camper that sat in the middle of the community. The survivors had a leader, and as befitting his place in the community, he lived just a little better than everybody else. Whenever they were forced to change locations, it took ten people to pull the wheeled construct. The man who resided within was a former soldier, back when there used to be an army. His name was Jacob King. Colonel Jacob King to everybody in the small community of survivors.

Murphy knocked on the door and asked for an audience with King. He was escorted in and allowed to sit at the small formica table across from King and his daughter who asked him what the trouble might be.

"First, a legless man stole a pair of boots from me, then an armless child took my gloves. And after I found his dad and asked when I should come to dinner, he pulled out a baseball bat," Murphy rambled and ranted. He explained in detail what he found, where he found it and just how he'd been duped.

King's daughter was a big fan of Seinfeld before the apocalypse and Murphy reminded her of a cute version of Kramer. She laughed loudly and her dad said, "I can't say you're right, but I will tell ya what...how 'bout you have dinner with my daughter, Sheila. Never since the apocalypse have I heard her laugh like this, and I always told myself that if somebody could make her laugh after all she's seen...all the misery we've endured, I'd keep them around. Thank G.o.d for the simple things."

"Never mind," said Murphy. "I hear enough voices in my head laughing like fiends. Sometimes it feels like the braying will split my head open."

At this, King became angry. "You're nothing but an ill-mannered old lunatic."

"Well, Colonel Jacob King," Murphy said in a brief moment of lucidity, "what can you expect from a pig but pork?"

"Look," said King, "you shall have your reward. Go now, but come back in three days and you shall have your just desserts."

When Murphy left, one of the colonel's men was standing outside the trailer. "You made King's daughter laugh. I'll bet you've been nicely rewarded."

"I should say so," Murphy said. "I'm getting just dessert in three days."

"Kick me down some, man," the guard said. "You don't want to overdo it on sweets."

"Because it's you, I'll let you have a share," Murphy said with a nod. "Meet me here in three days and I'll tell Colonel Jacob King to give you a share."

Arnie Goldberg was pus.h.i.+ng his cart past when he overheard the whold conversation. He ran up to Murphy and tapped him on the shoulder. "G.o.d's wonders! What a lucky man you are, Murph. Tell ya what, I've got a freshly-skinned rabbit. You don't want some empty dessert. Trade me the rest of your dessert and I'll give you the rabbit."

"All right," Murphy agreed. "But I want it now. I've been swindled lately. Go see Colonel Jacob King in three days and you'll be given your dessert."

Arnie was thrilled. He had two more rabbits back at his tent. But sweets were hard to come by and if anybody had some...it would be the colonel.

When the three days pa.s.sed, Murphy came to see Colonel Jacob King just as he'd been told. "Strip off his s.h.i.+rt and bind him to the whipping post so Murphy can have his just desserts," King barked to a pair of his henchmen.

"Oh no." Murphy waved the pair of goons away. "I gave a share to the man who stands at your door by day and the rest to Arnie Goldberg. You don't owe me a thing."

Just then, the door guard and Arnie jogged up. They demanded what they'd made their deal with Murphy for. With a smirk, the colonel agreed. The door guard knew better than to protest. He'd been okee-doked before and bore his las.h.i.+ng bravely, but Arnie wailed and carried on like it was the Second Apocalypse.

Colonel Jacob King thought it was hilarious. In fact, he was so impressed with how Murphy had snookered people with their own greed that all his previous anger disapated. He had a good laugh at the situation.

"You lost your reward before you even got it," King said. "So I'm gonna give you the hook-up. In the big cabinet in my trailer are what you might consider my treasures. Take what you want, Murph."

The man didn't need to be told twice. (He's crazy, not stupid.) He stuffed his pockets with hard candy, a can without a label, and a variety of trinkets and knick-knacks. Then he went to the tent with the whiskey still and found a folding table that was out of the way to look at his treasures. Arnie slunk in a little later and heard Murphy muttering to himself.

"...Colonel Jacob King is quite the rascal. He got me good this time. Why couldn't he pay me himself, then I'd know the value of what I got. How can I know if I got fair value when I just stuffed my pockets without really looking or knowing what I took?"

"G.o.d help us," Arnie whispered. "The crazy man is disrespecting Colonel Jacob King. I'll go and tell, then I will be rewarded and he'll be the one feeling the lash."

When King heard what Murphy had said, he flew into a rage and told Arnie to fetch the offender and bring him to the trailer. Arnie took off, actually running to bring back Murphy.

"You must come see the colonel this minute," Arnie panted.

"Don't tell me," Murphy said. "I know what's right. I'm gonna trade up for this fine field jacket I saw. Do you think a man who's done so well for himself of late can go before our ill.u.s.trious leader dressed in raggedy old clothes?"