Taylor Pittman

A presentation of the

BRAINS!: The Zombie Horde in Pop Culture Mini-Term Course, 2014

Table of Contents

Zombie Art and Literary Works by:

Adam Hudson…………………….2

Alex Ludwig……………………...6

Constance Chen………………….10

Devin Halvorsen…………………...17

Jennifer York……………………35

Mary Catherine Van Buren…………...43

Otitodirichukwu Ihebuzor…………….44

Taylor Pittman…………………...48

Tony Courville……………………55

 

Adam Hudson 2/22/2014 

Yesterday by Adam Hudson

As the sun sank towards the tips of the old oak trees, Belinda began her nightly routine. Humming an old French song, she pulled the heavy iron door of her cottage shut and dead bolted it. She sighed softly and took one more glance out the living room window before drawing the curtains over its steel bars. A cat the color of onyx darted out from behind one of the plush armchairs and rubbed against her sundress. “Hello, darling,” she whispered, and smiled. She scratched it once behind the ears and stood up to lock the house’s back door. She stopped suddenly, frozen by a shrieking sound, but breathed once more when she realized the sound came from her tea kettle.

Cradling a fragrant cup of earl grey, she glided back into the living room and lit the fireplace. She sat on one the room’s bright couches and her cat, Stephan, jumped onto her lap. Belinda picked up a photograph lying on the adjacent coffee table and stroked her fingers against the image of a woman’s face. “I’m afraid she isn’t going to be joining us tonight either,” she said, addressing Stephan. “The mortal coil tends to get in the way of that.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply: once, twice, three times. “But the past is the past is the past,” she cried, and arose with a musical laugh, putting the photo into her pocket. “I don’t want to think about the sad things from long ago.” She cranked a phonograph with a slender, ivory arm and began to sway softly back and forth the music coming forth. “Beatrice and I used to love this song,” she said. Catching herself, she ignored the thought and gracefully ascended the stairs.

Music still emanating from downstairs, she went into the master bedroom and drifted over to a large mirror, twirling once. “This dress is much too floral to be wearing tonight,” she muttered to herself, and slipped it off. She opened a large wardrobe and beamed. “In fact, tonight will be quite brisk. I think I shall wear a… hmm… Oh, this is lovely!” She pulled a sleeveless black dress from the back, along with a long pair of gloves and a wide-brimmed hat, also black. She put the dress on and slid the gloves up to her elbows. She set the hat on her head playfully. “I see no reason to dress poorly when there is no one to impress,” she said youthfully. Furthermore, why should she act her age? There was no one left tell her not to, that a woman of 57 years should stay plain and let the greener birds have all of the plumage. She drifted into the bathroom and opened one of the drawers. “I think a ruby fits the situation best,” she decided, so she took out a tube of lipstick and pulled the lid off with a pop.

Applying the shade carefully, she took the moment to examine her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her face still held the light from long ago, though it was lined with wrinkles from long nights filled with tears. Though she was what some would call, well, old, her almond-shaped eyes and full lashes, accompanied by crow’s feet, hinted at the glamor and beauty she was famous for in days past. Lost in her memories, she thought of her youth, how, though the young men fawned over her, no one but Beatrice caught her fancy. How they had promised to never leave each other. How their marriage day was the happiest she had ever been. How they had bought the bright cottage on the edge of the forest, near the town. How Stephan was the only child they had wanted. How, on the day the outbreak, Beatrice had been run over by fleeing motorist in town. How no one had stopped to help her. How she had likely died in terror and unimaginable pai- Belinda slammed the makeup drawer shut and rushed out of the room, mascara running.

She drifted over to a hall closet, wiping her eyes, and took out a revolver. She loaded it and went to the her room, once again smiling. “Are you ready for another evening of entertainment?” she asked the cat facetiously. It only looked at her, and resumed licking itself on her bed. Shem pulled her machete out from underneath it and ran her gloves over the blade. “Still sharp,” she said, examining the small cut made in one of the leather fingers. “I haven’t had to use this in years.” She thought back to the first time she had encountered one of Them. The night after Beatrice had been hit by the car. A man, shouting something about mailboxes, had walked through her yard. She had been standing on the front porch, holding the knife in front of her like it was her only salvation. The man, just feet away from her, had tripped and fallen to the ground. She, more nimble than now, had jumped onto his back and stabbed him in the neck, severing his spinal cord.

 

Adam Hudson 2/22/2014 

Ever since that day years ago, Belinda had gone through the same thing night after night. At first it had only been a few of Them, muttering undecipherable phrases and walking around the perimeter of her house. Belinda had been horrified; Beatrice had always been the strongest of the couple, taking control of situations and fixing problems. But that first night Belinda had been alone and afraid. She had cowered in the dark, watching dark figures stumble around the yard, the garden, the driveway. The body of the first of Them had still lain in her doorway, in a pool of blood. As time went on, she had learned more and become stronger. She had walked through the gutted remains of her town, knowing that she was safe in daylight. They didn’t like daylight. She had learned to just ignore their babbling, that it was easy to imagine they were saying things. She had seen the bodies lying by the road, no longer able to watch their stores, their families. The town had been deserted; everyone was gone. She hadn’t known if the survivors had fled, or if there had been none. She still didn’t know.

Some nights, They ignored the house and few even came into her yard. Other nights, the numbers of Them attacking the house grew so large that she had to use bullets to keep them from breaking the windows or the back door.

But tonight, Belinda didn’t concern herself with protecting the cottage. She simply sat on her bed in her dress and read a book to occupy herself. It was an old book her mother-in-law had gotten her, one about botany. She tried to just read it for the content, but it was hard to ignore the facts behind where the book came from the memories associated. But she managed. Belinda read for a few minutes before dropping it, fast asleep.

In what felt like seconds, she was in her garden, fog floating around her head, kneeling beside a rose bush. She was trimming off the dead flowers, singing to herself. The dirt smelled fresh, clean, like after a rain shower. She noticed that some of the flowers grew back immediately after she clipped them, but she thought nothing of it. In the distance, she hear a loud pounding, like someone was hammering something. She couldn’t see more than ten feet away from her because of the fog. Distracted by the sound, she stood up from her garden and approached the house. I was unnaturally dark inside and equally foggy. Going up the stairs, every footstep made a loud thud, but the noise didn’t stop when she ceased to walk. Her bedroom was empty except for her, and she began to cry. Something moved behind her and she turned, expecting one of Them to be approaching. Instead it was Beatrice. “Love,” Belinda shouted, but, try as she might, she could not move to embrace her. Beatrice stood there solemnly, dressed in a fur coat. She was pale white. “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,” Beatrice whispered, “starving hysterical naked.” The pounding in the background grew louder, filling Belinda’s ears. “Dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix.” Belinda could barely hear Beatrice’s voice over the sound. Bang. Bang. Bang. “Angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection,” Beatrice mouthed, as blood began to trickle from her eyes, “to the starry dynamo in the machinery of light.” Bang. Bang. Belinda awoke trembling.

Someone was at her front door, beating his fist against it, shouting something. She couldn’t hear what the man was saying, but she knew it wasn’t anything with meaning. Belinda got up from her bed and picked up her pistol. She walked over to the window and opened it. Then she could hear Them. They were mocking her, shouting at her about her lost love, her lost life, the friends she would never see again. She just knew it; why hadn’t she known before? They didn’t want her to forget. The house didn’t want her to forget. She screamed into the night. “Get the hell out of here and leave me alone!” The noise made the rest of them, some 50 or 60, turn their heads towards the house and stumble through the yard, arms outstretched.

She slammed the window and sat back down, cigarette in hand, hat skewed to the side. She inhaled deeply and lay back down on the bed, blowing smoke to the ceiling. “Why can’t I forget?” she sobbed. The sound of hands against the door spread to the walls and windows. Belinda didn’t care. She just lay there, thinking of her old life. The friends that had once filled this house, enjoying themselves, now walked the streets at night, screaming and attacking anything that moves.

Belinda looked over to Stephan, who was staring fearfully into space. “We have visitors,” she said with an empty laugh, and got up. She absentmindedly played with her revolver and walked downstairs. The

 

Adam Hudson 2/22/2014 

phonograph was still playing classical music, so she twirled around, her dress spreading out like a dark flower, gun in hand. She didn’t need anyone to dance with her. After all, they we’re all dead. She could just dance by herself. The thought sent her into a laughing fit, which lasted for the entirety of the song.

She swayed over to the wall. Pulling the curtains away with a crazed look in her eyes, Belinda saw a few of them attacking the living room window, faces contorted. She stopped dancing, her face contorted with rage. “You don’t want me to forget? Then fine, let’s remember,” she screamed at Them. She picked up a fire poker and broke the window, letting their moans enter the room. Laughing maniacally, she thrust it at Them, felling two of them and injuring another. She turned around with the poker above her head and brought it down on the phonograph. Why won’t they all shut up? The music stopped with a screech, and all that could be heard in the living room was Their rambling and the crackle of the fireplace. Throwing the poker at the wall, she left the room, once more with grace.

She pirouetted into the garage and gathered a few tanks of gasoline. Walking to the front door, she unlocked it and swung it inward. “Yoo-hoo!” she called with glassy eyes and a face nearly as empty as Theirs, and They shambled towards her, babbling. “Welcome to the party of yesterday,” she exclaimed with a curtsy. She walked up the stairs, pouring the gasoline as she went. They began to pour through the door. She entered her bedroom, leaving the door open. Stephan, hearing the noise They made, hissed and hid under the bed. Belinda splashed the gasoline onto her clothes and poured the rest onto the bed. She pulled out the photograph and ripped it in half. They were coming into her room. “The past is the past,” she muttered, lighting a cigarette. “The past is the past is the p-“

Earth’s Final Vengeance: An interview of Kal-El, The Man of Steel

“By Clark Kent” by Alex Ludwig

So, Mr. Kal-El, how has your opinion of yourself changed since the beginning of the Great Solitude, and what was killing your first undead like?

I always considered myself a hero. I mean, I never would have admitted it to anyone because that would have been a mite narcissistic, but I did. I always stood up for what I thought was right, I founded a team; we did some good things, stopped some bad people, but it didn’t even matter because now, now we’re at war. I abstained from killing anyone, although it would have been easy. I knew I could have but it wouldn’t have been right. I remember the first one that I put down; it was August 23rd, 2015. It was swelteringly hot outside when the first call from Atlanta came in. We assumed it was just a small cult, or… something, anything other than what it truly was.

When the Python set down about a quarter of a mile outside of the city, things still seemed to be in control. As Batman, Hawk Girl, and I rushed forward to see this “ravenous cult” which had set its mind to biting all of Atlanta. Things started to get louder, my super sensitive hearing could detect the faintest cries starting and quickly rising in volume and intensity until it sounded like the whole city was filled with howler monkeys.

The first one that I saw startled me. I thought, “Hmm, I’ve seen gods and demons but I’ve never seen a man with only a quarter of a face walking around yelling ‘BRAAIINNNNZZZ.’ He was wearing what once was a suit but had been subjugated to so much bloodshed it looked like the red blazer some kids back in Smallville wore to their high school prom. The tie was blue with a pattern of waves crashing on to a rocky beach, something that I would suspect he would wear to a date. He also had a wedding ring. That killed me, I couldn’t believe a married man would be degraded into something so despicable. Anyway, as he approached me I didn’t understand they were monsters at this point so I said, “Sir, I need you to calm down, I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” As it kept approaching I started to back away because I saw there was no light in its eye. It had no higher purpose than to feed, to continue the lifeless survivorship that it was. I knew that I couldn’t take this thing to jail. So, I stepped forward, reared my fist back and punched. My blow struck true, it went straight through the neck completely decapitating the monster. As it fell blood gushed from the newly formed hole and it stirred no more, the once brilliant tie now stained with what I saw as the blood of my first victim.

After I has finished my first unmentionable I flew above the action to see how my friends were doing. While I was occupied with the first zombie more had appeared than I could count. Batman had reached the same conclusion as myself and was using his bat-a-rangs™ to their full potential. They were felling zombies from 20 meters and exploding on impact killing even more. The sight of all this death was stunning. I could not believe that the bat could develop such a blood lust. To protect my opinion of my friend I turn away to see Hawk Girl doing the same, if not worse, than Batman. Her electrified mace smashing through undead after undead cleaving them limb from limb without even the smallest bit of remorse. When she sees me hovering in shock above the fight she comes to me and says, “Superman, I know this isn’t how we wanted to fight crime, but sometimes plan change. This is getting big, it’s not just Atlanta. John called from the watch tower and says that outbreaks have been spotted all over the world. This could be an epidemic.”

My fear, yes, I was afraid, roiled to the surface threatening to overwhelm me, but I controlled it and replied, “We need to contain it here. We can worry about the other outbreaks later. If we handle this one case at a time we can control it. We have to. No one else will.”

So, we fought and we fought hard. I slew thousands that day, but Atlanta had a population of almost 450,000. I think when the first wave of change stopped there might have been 45 people left who hadn’t been bitten or were part of the original infection. That day, August 23, 2015, saw almost 99.9999% of the earth’s

population decimated. We gathered the survivors from the city and took them with us to the Watchtower where we hoped they would be safe, but when we arrived something horrendous had happened.

With a crew of over 250 non-heroes necessary to maintain the Watchtower’s various functions someone had caught the plague while on leave. I assume that one had turned to two, two to four, four to eight until the entire vessel was infested with the monsters. We prayed that when we got to the control room John would have been able to lock the door, but to no avail. Several crew members are huddled around the central control like they’re discussing the next big mission, except this time the coppery taste of blood fills the room. After we dispatch the six unmentionables surrounding the controls we see what remains of our Martian friend. The first incision is obvious; a deck-hand came up behind him and sunk his strong, demonic teeth into the sole surviving Martian in the universe. Then, they began to feast. He was disemboweled and had taken his final breath as they tore into his flesh. His face was almost entirely gone, but he was beginning to stir as we watched in horror as our friend rose from the grave.

As he began to move towards us we all backed away, afraid to be the one to strike down our lost companion. I knew that I, Superman, must act; if I had shown any weakness I would have failed all of my friends.

I step forward and let my Kryptonian nature flow through me; I feel the heat intensify and begin to focus in my eyes. I quickly shut my eyes and apologize for what I’m about to do. I open my eyes and beams of heat fly from my eyes cutting and cauterizing John’s body into three different pieces. The part that was still attached to his head, an arm and a small bit of shoulder, continue to claw towards the rest of the league, and I step forward and bring my foot down with all my might squashing the head and splattering blood across the control room floor.

We decide to go looking for Green Lantern and Wonder Woman but find them in a similar position as John. They’re backed into a corner with a pile of almost 100 dead lying around them. It seems that in the close quarters of the Watchtower they were overrun and taken. They didn’t even get the chance to rise because so much of their bodies were eaten that there wasn’t even enough of them to come back.

At this point I start to break down. I don’t know what to do; we have 3 of the greatest heroes dead on a ship filled with 45 terrified survivors whose hopes and dreams lie with us, and we’re completely lost.

So, we went back to the ship, went back into orbit and headed for earth to see if we could find any other survivors.

Well, how did you survive?

I made due, with the remaining 100 people that we were able to save from New York and Philadelphia before it was obvious everyone was dead or dying, we left civilization and tried to survive. Now, it was hard so a few people died from starvation but we made due. Soon we started to run out of essentials so Batman, Hawk Girl and I headed back into the festering cities to get essential supplies to help us start rebuilding the earth. We slew hundreds in every supermarket for every can of beans it cost us hours fighting the dead. Surviving was hard but it was possible.

So, since you’re obviously the last super what happened to Batman and Hawk Girl?

Well, it was on one of these runs that clipped Hawk Girl’s wings, literally. We were inside of a gigantic Aldi looking for food. At this point we were desperate and were taking risks. The walking dead seemed to know that we would be drawn to a place with this much food so they had come in hordes. The place was surrounded on all sides and they were standing shoulder to shoulder for miles upon miles around the building. We knew it would be tough, but we needed those supplies. I tore a hole in the roof and dropped Bats onto the top shelf to start collecting baby formula for Charlie, the only infant that had been seen in almost three and a half years. His father was desperate because he had lost his partner to the childbirth. Anyway, Bats grabs as much as he can carry and throws it into the Python before yelling at us to hurry up.

Hawk Girl, on the other hand is having more trouble than Batman; she is flying between shelves looking for non-perishables when suddenly, a jumper, one of the few who had the capability to leap more than an inch off the ground, attacked her from a shelf taking a snap at her wing missing all the vital arteries but still getting a feather sandwich. The loss of her remiges threw her flight into a crash landing in the midst of thousands of soul-less. They swarmed her and while she fought valiantly without the ability to fly she was dead. I saw it all in slow motion as the first zombies came at her I rushed towards her refusing to stand by as one of my best friends died. I sped through the air as the first wave hit her on all sides, but with a quick swing of her mace she knocked all away, except one. The one directly behind her, completely covered from my heat vision by her body. I would have killed her if I had tried. I yelled, “Shayera! Behind you!”

It didn’t matter though, it was too close and she was still fighting the approaching horde when it gripped her arm and sunk its disgusting, rotting, teeth deep into her toned arm. Her scream still echoes in my head when I sleep. At this point I had finally reached her and my anger became too much. I was crying, condemning, and loathing myself for not doing more. I mean, I’m SUPERMAN! Why couldn’t I save even one of my friends? Is this my lot in life? To watch all those who I care about suffer and perish?

I’ve lost control at this point and I release my Kryptonian nature at full force upon the whole world around me. My heat vision rips through the zombies, the building, and anything it touches within a quarter mile radius…. I forgot one thing in my rage: Batman.

The Python’s left engine is detached from the main body and the shuttle quickly spirals out of control. Bats is at the controls fighting for control of the shuttle but he cannot control the plane with only one engine. I rush towards the Python but it crashes and explodes into the cat food isle.

As I fly towards him punishing any zombie who gets in my way with a swift decapitation I see the cockpit is still mostly intact. As I approach I notice something strange about the windshield, while it was once clear it is now a ruby red splotch. I come down and pull the glass out to see my worst nightmare come true. Batman is sitting in the captain’s chair with rebar from the shelving unit behind puncturing through his chest. I say, “I.. I’m so sorry, my friend. I deserve to live in this hell, because once I die I will receive proper penitence for my stupid actions that has taken the last person who I care about in this world.”

His only reply was, “avenge the earth. We are dead but you can avenge us.”

Then he passed away with me holding him in my arms, having lost my last friend in the world.

So, I flew as fast as I could attempting got out run the dark scent of death. So I flew and flew until the bittersweet light of a new day struck me like a wall. I knew I must return to the camp or all that I cherish would surely be lost. For the next three hours, I flew with the sight of my friend’s death chasing me; I could see the musky scent of Batman leaving his body, and being replaced with the dark odor that accompanies the change. These thought haunted me until I saw the only thing that could make this day any worse.

The camp was on fire and filled with the slick smell of fresh blood. How they found this place I’ll never known, but they did; I am now truly alone. The dark hues of death that encircle our lost colony sapped deeply into my bones as I search for survivors. When I only find bodies instead of friends I give up. I retreat deep into the Fortress of Solitude where I am alone with my thoughts, although I would have been alone with them anyone I went in the world.

So, why are you still sitting here interviewing yourself? Why aren’t you avenging the earth?

Because I’m afraid. I don’t know if I will ever be killed by these menaces or if I’ll stand alone atop a pile of all the corpses of Earth unable to be killed by these menaces. So, I don’t care if I avenge them, I don’t care if I save the world because it isn’t worth saving anymore.

At this point, I soar into the air and do not stop I fly straight towards the sun at supersonic speeds. I fly higher and higher with the faces of my friends burned into my eyes. Today is August 23th, 2027, I am the sole survivor of two planets. It has been exactly 12 years since the first outbreak, 12 years since I last saw Lois, 12 years since I last felt pure joy, 12 years since I saw John, 12 years since I saw Green Lantern and Wonder Women, two of my closest friends whose faces I now barely remember, whose faces have been replaced by the countless innocents that have died under my watch. The sun is getting closer now, my tears that once streamed from my face are now evaporating as soon as they leave my eye. I am alone, but not for long, soon I will join my fearless companions in… in he- my thoughts begin to blur as the heat becomes over-powering and my mind wanders back to my youth. I fade into unconsciousness as I hurtle towards the sun. My final thoughts reflecting my first.

 

The Boy Who Was by Constance Chen

“I’ve heard he tends to keep to himself”, one girl broadcasts. “Well, I’ve heard his family is loaded, and they own a house on an island”, interjects another. Dully I listen, for he is of no importance to me. I try to hurry home in the pouring rain and attempt to not get my clothes soiled. Mama would be so disappointed at my untidiness. During dinner, Mama talked about the new neighbor of ours, rambling incessantly. I attributed her verbal annoyance to the fact that “she” was not my biological mother. Oh! But how I still loved her dearly!

I was rubbing the scar on my cheek when her question broke my thoughts:

“Have you acknowledged the new family across the street, dear? I’ve heard they have a son and he’s quite a sight!”

“Um…” I stuttered ineffectively, trying to come up with an appropriate response.

“I also believe he attends your school and is also in the same grade” she continues. “How fortunate!”

My lack of answer prompted an upward glance. “Darling, I do hope you’re not rubbing at that scar of yours again. That’s quite a dirty habit.”

Every time she scolds me, I flashback to my toddler years, remembering only bits of a tragic day. I remembered a very special playmate who executed childish nonsense with me. However, something happened that gave me this ugly scar. After that day, I never saw my playmate ever again. Our move also made it difficult to locate my old friend. But that was it. I recall no more.

When dinner finally concluded, I trudged sleepily to my bedroom, which was directly down the hall from the dining room. Without a man in the house, Mama had opted to reside in a relatively modest one story house. My room was plain, the walls were bare. But it was spacious alright, roomy enough that I managed to include a futon. As always, my window was cracked slightly to let the spring air in. The aroma of fresh blossomed flowers easily breezed in. I sometimes jokingly declare it my bedtime drug. Before drifting off, I pondered the image of the new boy, and the possibility of encountering him the next day.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, I woke up to the delicious smell of eggs and bacon. Mama never fails to ensure that I receive a nutritious breakfast. Upon looking in the mirror, I let out a little sigh, and am once again reminded of the tragic incident.

“Good morning sweetheart!” Mama welcomed enthusiastically.

 

“Uh, yeah, you too. Smells good.” I replied, while reaching for a piece of toast.

“Ready for school?”

“Mehh… It’ll be the same old, same old.”

“See if you can get friendly with that new neighbor’s son; it’s not every day we get new faces.”

“Uhhh…” I grunted back. “I’ve got to go. Love you! Bye!”

I knew something was different the moment I stepped foot into the school. The atmosphere gave hint of anticipation and expectation, which I related to the new boy. I was just shutting my locker when I heard several squeals nearby. The new boy has arrived. Yay me. The welcoming noises drifted closer and closer until he was within five feet approximation. I lifted my hand to brush the hair out of my face, in hopes of getting a clearer view of him, when I heard him gasp. His gaze was locked on mine and portrayed a mixture of shock and disbelief. Startled, I retreated quickly to the comfort of my class, determined to forget what just occurred. Moments later, he walked in.

Other than the small incident this morning, the rest of my day went peacefully as I didn’t encounter him again. Just when I was set for home, he approached me.

“Hey, my name is Drew. Mind if I walk with you?”

“Sure.” I replied, momentarily incapable of speech.

If I thought he was good looking from afar, then he was absolutely gorgeous up close. This thought made my cheeks flush pink. We walked the rest of the way in complete silence, each one awkward to converse. Little did I know that our daily stroll would lead to a beautiful friendship.

~ ~ ~

Months later, we have become well acquainted with each other, our friendship growing by the day. I discovered that we have much in common, including our birthdays! But one thing Drew is sour about is his history. He wouldn’t disclose any information. Nonetheless, he is a well-known and admired figure in the present.

 

Students and teacher alike have grown to regard him in warm manners. Intelligent and the captain of the boys’ basketball team, Drew had himself a fan club. Many girls fancied themselves to have him in their grasp.

There was one girl in particular, named Vanessa. Most popular and most glamorous, she thought she had priority to Drew. Surprisingly, she was rejected and ignored to the point where she became the laughingstock of the school. I believe she became extremely jealous and envious of how friendly Drew and I were, for she repeatedly gives me death stares. I tried to be amiable, but gave that up long ago.

When the boys’ basketball team won the State’s Championship, they decided to celebrate by a winner’s dinner. To commemorate for his great mood, Drew was generous enough to reveal part of his past. He claims that his parents were commonly envied upon. But to their astonishment, they had twins. Never was his childhood so adventurous. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, his sister abruptly disappeared. He knew not why nor her location. She’s been missing since. At this, Drew hung his head, ashamed.

“Why do you hate yourself for her disappearance?” I questioned.

He hesitated before answering. “Because I promised I would always look after her. I didn’t get a chance to apologize.”

Although I was disappointed when Drew had to depart, we agreed to meet up later and continue our conversation.

~ ~ ~

Drew is dead. My wonderful, beloved, friend, was dead. Food poisoning they say, but I believe not a single word. What is the possibility that he was the only one from the team that was affected?! That day, I attended school in a zombie like state, oblivious to my surroundings, only capable of mourning for his loss. At the same time, I felt extreme hatred to whoever was heartless enough to commit this deed. Deep in my gut, I know it was murder, but who could burden a hatred against Drew? I soon found the answer on my locker.

“If I can’t have him, neither can you.”

The note sparked a series of shivers down my back, and I felt my breathing constrict. No, no, no, no, this can’t be happening, I thought. I felt the room sway and my surroundings tip. Next thing I knew, I was engulfed by darkness.

~ ~ ~

I awoke to the softness of my bed and the chirping of the crickets, realizing that I was home. Suddenly, painful memories of earlier events came crashing down and I squeezed my eyes shut instinctively. I yearned for sleep, desperate to be somewhere else.

 

~ ~ ~

In my dreams, I heard heavy breathing and someone repeating my name. A cold touch to my arm jostled me awake, only to find a dark figure looming over. I attempted to scream, but my body was paralyzed out of fear, and I began to hyperventilate. At last, I managed to question his motives.

He rasped, “Well, I came back to apologize.”

One Year Later…

We have succeeded. Or shall I say, our government has succeeded. A viable vaccine has been developed that completely exterminated the zombie plague. Along with a cure, all the living dead were transformed back to their sane state. Today would be the first time I get to see Drew and hang out with him. Our last experience, well, didn’t turn out as great. I’ll just say that there was a lot of screaming, commotion, and investigations going on afterwards. Haha oops.

I mean, you can’t exactly blame me for shattering a few glass with my voice. You’d probably done the same had you been in my situation.

Hurriedly, I jumped the fence in to the Anderson’s back yard, anticipation crawling all over my body. I ran around the house, observing the windows, blackened to keep prying eyes out. The Anderson’s reputation has sky rocketed since a year ago, mainly due to their unwavering care towards Drew. I fear that his transformation has distorted his beautiful face, but others assured me that the cure works miracles.

My hand reached shakily towards the doorbell; the echoing chime too loud for the still house. I eagerly awaited the arrival of one of his parents, hopefully not his father. The father has a looming figure that seems impenetrable, which terrifies me a bit. Then the door opened with his mother’s smile, radiating calmness and comfort. She welcomed me in a warm embrace and insisted that I sit on the sofa.

“Drew’s taking a shower, so he’ll be down momentarily.” She exclaimed. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, considering the amount of time I spent taking care of him.”

“Really?” I responded. “What embarrassing things have he told about me?”

“Just that you have a wonderful personality.” Replied Mrs. Anderson. “Say, if you don’t’ mind me asking, how did you get that scar on your cheek?”

“Oh this?” I rubbed the faded mark. “Some childhood incident. Actually, I don’t recall what happened; I was probably too young.”

 

“How interesting.” She paused. “I don’t know if Drew told you about it, but I also have a daughter that was kidnapped. She was Drew’s younger twin sister. It was dusk when they were playing outside, and that was when the kidnapper made his move. We were having a family picnic, and I went back to get some fruits, leaving the toddlers unattended for a moment. I came back just in time to see him carry off my Dani, so I chased after him, still holding my kitchen knife. Just before I could stop him, he knocked the knife from my hand. As the knife fell, it cut a clean line down my daughter’s left cheek, just like your scar. It was devastating how he got away. If Dani was still here, she would’ve been seventeen.” A single tear slipped down her face.

After listening to her talk, I felt all my nerves go numb. Like a new door has opened in my life, but all that I could see was white light, too bright to see what’s beyond. All the facts lined up perfectly. There was no mistake. There cannot be a mistake.

“Mrs. Anderson,” I choked out, “I am your missing daughter.”

Drew choose that moment to walk down the stairs, utterly confused at the situation at hand. But after a moment of realization, he joined in with our embrace, tears of joy flowing everywhere. Later in retrospect, I could honestly say that it was the best day of my life; I could not have asked for a better family reunion.

~~ ~

“So have you heard about Vanessa?” Drew questioned me.

“No. What about her?”

“You really are sheltered, aren’t you.” He grinned one of those silly grins of his.

“Sure whatever. Tell me, what happened?”

“Well, in all simplicity, Vanessa was the one who poisoned me.”

The revelation came too hard. The truth was the dagger that had just stabbed me in the stomach. I could see the blood of shock, anger, and hatred flowing out of me.

“Oh my God that scumbag!!” I cried out, enraged. “I will murder her if that’s the last thing I do!!!!”

“Calm down, calm down! It’s okay. She’s currently held without bail, in a detention center. Most likely she’ll be tried as an adult.”

 

When I heard this, I felt my rage boil from red to black. If I ever got my hands on Vanessa, the scent of death was sure to be present. I will ensure that her death be long and painful, almost equivalent to the sensation of being buried alive. She will taste every atom of dark matter within me. Like a black hole, I will lure her to the ends of the world. Her screams of agony and cries of pain will be music to my ears, like the soothing waves on the Bahamas.

She’ll never see it coming, I chuckled softly to myself.

She. Will. Die.

The Tale of Captain Black Jim by Devin Halvorsen

November 22, 1718

It was not a dark and stormy night as you might expect. It was actually a warm, sunny afternoon when Jack burst into the local tavern for the hundredth time that month. Frustrated that his ship departure got pushed back another two weeks, he once again decided to drink his troubles away. He was just about to order a bottle of rum when he heard a raspy voice holler at him from the back of the tavern.

“Avast ye matie! Yarr have been coming to my here tavern every day for the past month angrier than a pirate with barnacles on his Jolly Roger. What be the matter with ye?”

“Aye!” replied Jack, “My ship has been delayed once again!”

“Aye, what ye be so excited for going back so soon? Looking to make yar fortune on the high seas? Or are ye the adventuring type?” replied the stranger.

“I’m in the business of cleaning up the spawn of Satan. I mean to rid these great islands of the undead menace, at least those belonging to His Majesty King George!” boasts Jack.

The stranger takes a swig of his rum and takes a moment to process this new information. Jack receives a tankard as well and turns from the stranger. The old pirate stranger then hollers for Jack to come sit in his booth. Jack, unopposed to the offer, meanders his way over. The old stranger looks Jack dead in the eye, not more than two inches from his face. Jack notices that his one eye is glass, his teeth yellowed and gummy. He smells as if he is one with the rum he has been drinking. In a breath, no louder than a whisper, the strange old man says “What do you know of the notorious Captain Black Jim? What say you of this man?”

Jack is baffled by the question, almost insulted by such an ignorant question. “Why, of course I know of him! He’s the bloody flea-ridden bilge rat that brought this goddamned plague to our beloved Caribbean.”

“Arr, but that be where yar wrong! He was the greatest chance we had of stoppin’ this here plague!” raged the man. He stood up and hollered a hearty laugh that would chill your bones. His imposing figure towered over young Jack. As Jack looked over the man’s clothing more closely, he noticed the insignia of Black Jim, two putrefied arms crossed with a decaying skull growling in the center. As a result of the man’s standing, Jack could also see his two gilded war-axes that seemed to glow with the intensity of a thousand suns. Only one man on the high seas was known to carry such weapons, but he was supposed to have died alongside his captain long ago. Noticing the shock on the boy’s face, the stranger grabs Jack by the chest and lifts him up to eye level. Then, with a threateningly silent whisper, the stranger continues “Ah, you recognize me now do ya?”

“Dr…Dr…Dread Toombs, first mate to Captain Black Jim! You’re supposed to be-” Jack feebly tries to squeak out the words before First Mate Dread Toombs violently interjected.

“Dead! Haha, you wish I were DEAD! But, instead of killing you for your ignorance towards the late captain, I think I’ll correct your ways instead! Arr, listen to this tale and I’ll spare ye worthless life, zombie slayer…” With that threat and a swig of rum, Dread Toombs began his tale of Captain Black Jim.

March 14, 1678

“You’ve picked a good day to die! Again!” bellowed the powerful voice of the captain. He takes a swig from his tankard in his one hand as his dark steel rapier in his other hand comes down upon the head of one of Satan’s minions. He produces a hearty laugh and continues to slice through the undead.

“What the hell were we here for in the first place?” yells a young Dread Toombs as he hacks through the horde, one war-axe in each hand.

“For the rum, obviously! Haha!” Black Jim beckons with his sword over to the team of men escorting the cargo through the onslaught of zombies.

Captain Jim and his crew are making their way through Taphus, which translates to “beer halls,” the perfect pirate destination. There is only one problem; the island has been overrun with the undead menace. Black Jim however, being the captain of not only a pirate ship, but the first ship to specialize in the decimation of the undead, easily made the decision to land. This was mere child’s play for a crew as skilled as his and the rum was theirs in no time at all, as well as an entire town on undead laid strewn across the ground.

Jack then interrupts Dread Toombs’ story with “So you killed a couple zombies, that ain’t no marvel. Any man with half a brain and a flintlock can take out a few.”

“Shut it ye parrot-loving son of a strumpet! Listen, or die. Simple as that.” Replied Dread Toombs in a not-so-pleasant manner. “Where was I? Anyway, weeks after the battle of Taphus…”

“Captain, we be outgunned!” shouted a recent recruit. “There be ships on either side, approaching fast, what do we do?”

“First, you’re going overboard if you say another word. Second, face all cannons to the stern. Wait for MY order to fire! And finally, Missstar Crowley, Lieutenant Dan, spring the ARR!” shouts the captain as the two British ships close the distance.

Lieutenant Dan and Mr. Crowley in sync ask “The what?”

“The Automated Rotating Rippers. We’re going to have some fun ‘ere boys!” laughed the captain.

By now the ships were within yards of the bow of the ship. Then the captain hollered to port and starboard and with a click and a complex gear system, two massive rotating saw blades protruded from the ship 30 feet in either direction. With yet another holler, the cannons were all fired simultaneously and the ship shot forward. Black Jim’s ship made it in between both British vessels without a single shot fired upon them. Both ships had massive holes on their inner sides and proceeded to topple into the water. Screams rang out and fires blazed across what remained of both beaten ships. Black Jim retreated his weapons and turned to fish for anything valuable that may have floated to the surface. That’s when the crew of Poseidon’s Wrath, Black Jim’s ship, spotted several large crates, large enough to hold a small flock of sheep. With ambitions for rum, the crew snatched up every crate that they could find. After a good haul, several men began to tear apart different crates to see what luck brought them. Luck was not on their side.

“What in the world…” Dread Toombs exclaimed as the boxes were opened. Screams ran out across the ship as the rest of the crew saw what came out of the boxes.

Several zombies were locked away in each container, holding 5-7 each. The men opening the crates, expecting rum, nearly dove headfirst into the boxes without realizing that they were actually jumping to their swift demise. Screams for mercy ran out as gunshots were fired. Several of the new recruits were either instantly devoured or dove overboard to swim alongside their British “friends.” Then, the crates not yet opened burst apart, and even more of the monstrous creatures came out.

In the midst of all the commotion is Black Jim fighting back to back with Dread Toombs. They can be heard insulting the horde and laughing at each other’s jokes from anywhere on the ship, with an occasional high five for good measure. After several minutes of sparring, the crew has managed to fight off the undesirable cargo, suffering only minor casualties.

“Well men, I was looking forward to the taste of rum after opening those crates, but I’ll take the taste of a well won battle any day!” There are cheers from all over the ship at the captain’s remark. “How about we set a course for Tortuga?” Even more cheers erupt from the crew.

During the captain’s speech, all the dead British men from the two ships not only came back to life, but made their way over to the Poseidon’s Wrath. They managed to claw into the side of the ship and pull themselves over. Soon, the entire ship was surrounded by a seemingly unending mass of the undead. “And how about… Aye! There be some more of the undead! Send them back to the Locker where they belong!”

With his command, the entire crew sprang into action. They all took their normal battle stations and shot down the side of the ship until it was futile to do so. Several men were grabbed and thrown overboard, not into the water, but into the mouths of the hungry swarm below, and vanished nearly as fast as if the zombies were water. Those not thrown over slowly retreated to the center in a circle around the mast.

While most of the men were in the center, Lieutenant Dan and Mr. Crowley had a small group gathered starboard, but it was failing fast. Black Jim shouted for them to regroup center, and most did, but Dan was not so lucky. Jim, seeing a gunpowder barrel amidst a massive group of several dozen, shot the barrel with his flintlock. The explosion sent limbs flying, including the legs of Lieutenant Dan. The only good news for Dan was that he was now back center and was still able to cut the undead down to his size.

“Sir, we can’t take much more of this! We have to abandon- Ahhh!” screamed a deckhand to the left of Jim. His screams were put out by the pop of a musket from up above on the mast.

“How does it look from up there?’ yelled Jim to Hooded Rob, his marksman in the crow’s nest.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he lied to the captain as he watched more and more swim toward the ship.

“Mr. Toombs,” shouted the captain “I need to clear a path to the stern. Take point!”

“Aye aye Captain!” Dread Toombs shouted as he swiftly swung both his axes with such grace, it was as if he was cutting through air and not the skulls of the undead. He was followed by Captain Black Jim and a handful of his bravest men while the rest remained, determined to hold the mast as long as they could.

The small party heading stern has little trouble until they reach the stairs up to the wheel. Mr. Toombs, Black Jim, and two other crew members manage to make it up the stair case before a massive swarm leaps over the guard rail and separates the party into two groups. The men at the bottom of the stair case fight valiantly, but are being attacked on all sides. It isn’t long until only Mr. Crowley remains, swinging desperately and searching for a familiar face until he sees them rolling on the ground at his feet. In his last moments he looks to his captain and nods. Jim nods back as he watches Mr. Crowley’s head ripped of his neck and the torso feasted upon by the most foul of God’s creations.

A second later and Black Jim is back and focused on his plan; get to the cannons. It isn’t until the group is nearly at the cannons when he sees the strangest sight of his life. Standing directly in front of the cannons is a group of three British officers in perfect health. Baffled by the sight of them, Jim tells his remaining crew to go and light the fuses while he handled the officers.

“You can’t take all tree on at once. Yar good, dammit, but tree of them an’ this horde on top, yar be askin’ for a death wish!” Exclaimed Dread Toombs as he sliced the heads of two zombies clear off. “Take me with ye at least!”

“I can handle me own! It’s most important that ye light them fuses or we are all payin’ a visit to Davie Jones!” With that, Black Jim charges toward the officers, leaving behind his crew so that they can shoot forward and get out of this mess.

“En garde!” shouted the first officer Jim encountered. They parried several blows before rolling off each other, killing several zombies that had closed in, and gone back to parrying. Jim kicks the officer in the chest and he is forced back into a mob of the beasts. Jim then pulls out his flintlock to finish the deed.

The next two officers charge at once. Black Jim manages to parry their attacks with merely one sword until an officer manages to nick his drinking arm. The captain reaches blindly behind him, grabs the sword of an undead officer from its holster, kills the owner, and then parries with both hands. He is so effective in doing so, that he starts advancing on the officers. Right before Jim can land the killing blow to one Brit, the ship lurches forward

with the power of Poseidon and the wrath of the gods. “They did it,” is all that Black Jim can think as he stabs his swords into the ground in order to prevent flying off the ship.

All of the zombies on the sides of the ship are torn off, several limbs remain clutching the woodwork, torsoless. However, several remain on the ship. Some men are thrown off the ship, including the two men that helped Dread Toombs light the fuses. All that was left was a handful of zombies and fight to the death between the officers and Captain Black Jim and his first mate.

The following battle that ensued was one of near equal skill. Dread Toombs attacked with a flurry of blows, each of which were blocked and he was then forced into the defensive. Black Jim had similar problems, with his dark steel blade being countered by the white steel of the British officer’s constantly. Dread Toombs, fearing that the horde might be swimming back over for seconds, had to finish this fight fast. That’s when he threw one of his axes into the foot of the officer he was fighting. It dug into the foot and wood of the floorboards. Mr. Toombs then proceeded to hack the officer down bit by bit. That’s when both pirates pointed their blades at the remaining officer. He dropped his weapon and dropped to his knees as well.

“I submit. I have truly been bested. End it quick, will you?” said the defeated Brit.

Dread Toombs was about to strike him down when Captain Black Jim put his hand up to stop him. “First, I have a couple of questions to ask ye. What arr ye doin’ on me ship? Ye knew those creeps were a comin’,” questioned Black Jim.

“Yes, we did know that was imminent. So we, my two mates and I, decided to take a chance and see if we could take refuge on your ship. We both know how that went,” replied the British officer.

“But why was all yar cargo undead? Arrfully suspicious.”

The officer makes a motion towards his front pocket with his head. “That letter will tell you everything you need to know about the British Empire’s use of… undesirables. I was never strong enough to challenge what we were doing, even when I knew it was wrong. You. You, however, have the strength and power and ability to stop this madness. Please, I beg you as a dying wish, put an end to this madness.” Black Jim takes the letter from the officer’s pocket. As he paces away, he motions for the officer to be killed, and Dread Toombs does so promptly. Right before the captain opens the letter, he feels a pain in his right leg. He looks down to see the severed head of Mr. Crowley gnawing on his calf. In the calmest fashion possible under given circumstances, Jim tells Mr. Toombs to “Cut off my leg. Now.” Mr. Toombs then takes both his war-axes and slices Jim’s leg off just above the knee. Jim, grabs his now lifeless leg in one hand, grabs the head in the other, and hits the head far off into the ocean with his leg.

“What now captain?” asks Mr. Toombs.

Captain Black Jim replies by shouting loud enough for the entire crew to hear, “Set sail for Tortuga!”

Back at the bar, Jack stares intently at Dread Toombs as he finishes this portion of his story. The tavern’s crowd has died down by now and the night is getting late. Dread Toombs takes out his eye at this point to spit shine it.

“What happens next? Do you make it to Tortuga?” questioned Jack.

Putting his eye back in, Toombs says “Aye, I be gettin’ there laddie!” As he said “Aye”, Toombs smacks the back of his head and the eye pops out, landing in Jack’s freshly brewed pint of ale. Repulsed and no longer wanting the ale, Jack gives his drink to Mr. Toombs. Toombs raises the glass as if to solute the boy for the drink. “Much obliged,” replies the first mate.

“So what happened to Black Ji…”

“That be Captain Black Jim to you laddie!” storms Dread Toombs.

Terrified by the sudden outburst, but brave enough to repeat his question, Jack asks “So what happened to Captain Black Jim? A missing leg needs to be tended to quickly.”

“Aye, yar be right there boy. As soon as the Cap’n collapsed from a slight “misplacement” of nearly a quarter of his fluids, we medically trained professionals on board, tied a filthy rag around the wound. We even manag’d to clean that wound with some rum before we drank it all,” laughed the drunken first mate.

“Typical…” mumbled Jack.

With a speed like that of a flash of lightning, Dread Toombs grabbed a war-axe from his belt, spun it with the ferocity of a crouching tiger, and slammed into the table directly between Jack’s middle and ring fingers. The blade split the wood clear through the table, and if Mr. Toombs had missed by a hair’s width, Jack would soon become a very poor pianist. Jack whimpered a little before the old pirate asked “What was that ye says? Me hearin’ ain’t as good as it was in yesteryear.”

Jack violently shakes his head side to side in a no fashion. Toombs then asks “Shall I continue my story now? Or do yar need to relieve yarself in the latrine farst? Haha ha hahaha!”

After a quick use of the lavatories, Jack retakes his seat and Mr. Toombs picks up with “Arr… now where was I? Ah, Tortuga!”

Tortuga was only a couple days’ sail from where the attack occurred in red seas of the Caribbean. Poseidon’s Wrath was in desperate need of repair and luckily, Tortuga was the closest port. The captain was weak but any infection knew better than to try and get the better of him.

Once within sight of the port, a faint roar was heard in the distance. The entire city was ecstatic for the return of the beloved pirate captain and his crew. As the shipped docked, the condition of their ship was noticed by all the spectators. The captain was then wheeled off by several members of his crew. As they ran through the crowd towards the town’s makeshift pirate hospital, Dread Toombs went and recruited some men to fix the damaged ship. He then head after the captain.

Upon reaching the extremely sketchy, broken down, ranshack of a building that was the pirate hospital, the captain was given a room with a view. No expense was not made for Captain Black Jim, but that is really not saying much. He was still unconscious from the battle many days ago, but was in good condition, despite his missing leg. It was yet another two days before he awoke.

“Aye! Where’s the rum?! SOMEONE FETCH ME THE DAMN RUM!” were Jim’s first words.

After drinking nearly a full barrel of rum, he was ready to make the decision about his leg. The witchdoctor/surgeon, the Siamese twin pirate Devex, then came into the room. Also in the room was Dread Toombs, Hooded Robin, and Black Jim’s roommate Lieutenant Dan.

“So what do ye want done to that there leg Jim?” questioned Devex.

“Arr, what be the best you can do. Nothing but the best!” replied Jim. The smell of the rum wafted into the surgeon’s face. One half coughed as the other seemed to relish in the taste.

The sober half of Devex replied “How about a peg leg?” With this response, Black Jim grabbed an empty rum bottle and chucked it at the half stupid enough to give such an answer. The other half, quite drunk, says “Why don’t we give him a shotgun leg with an extendable bayonet?”

“Now that’s the smartest thing I heard all day! Get to it mates!”

Lieutenant Dan pipes up from across the room, “I’ll take two!”

“Sadly mate, we haven’t the time for these bright lads to fashion tree of these marvelous works of human ingenuity. You’ll have to settle for two peg legs instead.” The captain said this in the most sincere way a pirate could, he shouted and laughed his way through it. Lt. Dan took the news as if he had just been given the largest booty in the Caribbean all to himself, and was not disappointed in the news at all. After the laughter had died down, the Siamese pirate Devex left to work on the leg. Once gone the captain pulled out the letter the British officer gave to him in his dying wish. He read aloud the letter to his crew.

The Thirteen Knights of the Round Table,

It has come to the attention of the British Crown that the conquest in the American Islands is not as successful as promised. The Crown has invested a large sum of gold and silver into

the colonization of these foreign lands, and expects you to lead in that endeavor. In order for our fleet to defeat our enemies, the French, Spanish, and Dutch, we have sent a large fleet carrying a very valuable cargo. Britain wants you to not only win the battles on the seas with Britain’s advanced weaponry, she desires you to unload the “unmentionable cargo” held upon these ships into our enemies’ ports and towns. The Crown believes in your success. Britain is counting on you and your men to bring her victory in the Caribbean.

The British Crown

“Well I’ll be the son of a bilge ridden scallywag before I let these parrot-lovin’ strumpets unload a single crate in ‘nother port!” yelled the captain. Around him, his men nodded in agreement. “So it’s settled then. We hunt down the remainin’ twelve of these barstards! For the sake of the people of these here seas. Leave that dreadful island of “Great Britain” to her plague of undead! Avast ye! Let’s reclaim these here islands and bring down this bloody plague that is Mother England!” Cheers rose up through the room. Only Dread Toombs and Hooded Robin remained silent.

“How do you expect us to track these twelve knights, eh?” questioned Robin.

As he asked his question Devex walked back into the room. The sober head stated “My brother and I are witch doctors. We can find any man you so desire…”

“For a price,” interjected the drunken half. Another bottle was thrown, and still hit the sober side in the head.

“Well, can ye two fight? In a thicket, do you have the luck of the draw? Can ye handle yar orn when faced wit mobs of the undead crawling at yar feet?” questioned Dread Toombs. All of a sudden, there was a flash and the twins drew their swords. One shown with a red hot intensity and was hot to the touch. The other was a deep dark black and seemed to give a chill to the surrounding air. The brothers then proceeded to show their skill by slicing all the clothes off a young deckhand without leaving a single scratch.

“How was that?” said the brothers in unison.

“Fix me a leg an’ yar in,” stated Jim.

Within two weeks, Jim had his new leg, the ship was rebuilt better than before (with some new weapons and a larger hull for even more rum), a full recruited, and Poseidon’s Wrath was sent sailing after the 13 Knights of the Round Table.

Back in the present, Jack cannot believe what he is hearing. The tavern was completely empty at this point except for the two of them. It was dark outside and the only light seen from the windows were the red lights of the “Gentlemen’s Clubs.”

“Do you really expect me to believe this bull!?” exclaimed Jack.

“Aye, I thought ye might’n have a hard time believin’ it. That be why I keep de copy of one of the Brits we managed to take the head off of. Haha, poor bloke cried and cried for his mummy de entire time.” With this, Mr. Toombs slid a piece of parchment out of his sleeve. It was clearly old and worn and misshapen due to many years on the high seas. Just like he said, the parchment held the note that Dread Toombs had told Jack earlier.

“I can’t believe this…” Jack stared at the parchment in disbelief. He could not simply fathom that his beloved England could be capable of doing something so cruel, even to the Spaniards.

“D’ya notice anythin’ odd ‘bout that thar parchment?” questioned the old man.

“It’s old. And discoloured,” replied Jack.

“Ah, yar don’ see yet. It’s fine laddie! Cap’n an’ I didn’ find it fer nearly a year at sea! By then we only foun’ one udder member of them thirteen. We had the parchment out an’ ole Jim knocked o’er the rum like dis.” He proceeds to pour rum on the sheet. “What’ya see der boyo?”

After a moment, the rum had seeped into the sheet fairly deeply. Then, the letters seemed to fade way to something more cartographic. There were numbers on one side; latitude. There was part of a mysterious island seen, but not much else.

“So you had to collect all 13 of these papers?”

“No, there were two copies of the map made so that if one general died, the map wasn’t lost with him. The maps consisted of 6 pieces each, with one general left to guard the secret that the maps contained.” Dread Toombs spoke this with no impairment in his speech. Jack looked on, baffled.

“You just spoke perfect English there…” Jack spoke cautiously.

“Ah! So I did! I’m CLEARLY not DRUNK enough!” Dread Toombs proceeds to jump over the bar counter and dives deep into the liquor below. A mere handful of seconds later, he emerges with several bottles of rum and a smug grin on his face. He downs one near instantly and exclaims “Arr! That be better!”

“Anyway, you somehow managed to get these six map pieces?” questioned Jack. Jack was full of questions and needed answers immediately.

“Aye, that we did. It took our crew nine attempts arfter that farst one. So, ten in total.”

“And what…” Jack was cut off.

“Back to de stary! Arrl questions will be answered soon,” Dread Toombs told Jack as he once again started his tale.

The crew gathered around as Black Jim poured rum over the pieces of parchment. They all gasped, whether it was due to the fact that the captain just wasted perfectly good rum or it was in response to the map that appeared was unclear. Either way, the crew now had a heading.

“Hey, Devex, quick question; why couldn’t you find this bloke?” asked Sky Walker, a talented swordsman they picked up in a barren stretch of coast in Mexico.

“I can’t see this man,” replied the sober head. “Arr, he be hidden well.”

“I can never see anything…” said the drunken head sadly.

“That’s because you’re always drunk you imbecile. Come on, let’s go get some rum to celebrate!” replied soon-will-not-be sober head.

“Cap’n, how far out arrr we?” questioned Dread Toombs. “I want to know how long it is before I slice another unmentionable in half with my blade, or how long it will take before I watch the blood drip from the red coats of the bloody English menace.”

“Arr, go take a drink matie. We’ll be thar in a couple days journey,” replied the captain.

Dread Toombs couldn’t argue with his logic, so he got drunk and partied with the crew for what seemed like days. It is unknown why the captain allowed such havoc on his ship for those few days. Maybe he just felt nice all of a sudden. Maybe he had a nagging sense of impending doom. It is unknown which, but the ladder makes more sense than the former.

The captain watched the skies while making his journey into what was uncharted waters. The further he went into the murky waters of the unknown, the darker the skies became. There was not rain, but the skies looked as if God was ready to baptize his ship with the floods of water. The wind was also continuously growing in strength, making for a much faster journey than originally planned. Then one day, the winds stopped altogether. The skies did not clear, but seemed to smirk at the captain with an evil grin. Black Jim knew he was close.

A small island, no larger than a couple square acres stood alone with several palm trees and white sandy beaches. This would have been a beautiful sight for Jim, if he didn’t also see the 150 British ships sprawled around the island. One ship in particular was much larger than the others. This ship dwarfed his own, and made the captain think the commander of that vessel was compensating for something. The massive vessel, seeing Black Jim’s Poseidon’s Wrath set out on a course to intercept his own. The 150 or so ships formed a massive horizontal line in

front of the island, but not sailing forward toward their leader’s ship. Meanwhile, Black Jim’s men went to their battle stations, preparing for the worst. The two vessels stopped within earshot with one another and the captains were able to discuss with one another.

“Arr! Who be you?!” angrily yelled Black Jim.

“I can ask you the same! But someone as notorious as yourself is well known in these parts. You’re the outlaw Black Jim! You thought it wise to attack the crown, now did you Black Jim?” the captain of the large vessel pauses for a moment. He then continues with “I am His Majesty’s most loyal, powerful, and successful naval general! My name is Churchill, General Churchill to you! Now you have caused quite a stir in His Majesty’s plans! But no matter, you shall die soon anyway. Paul the Damned! Release the Kraken!” As Churchill uttered these words, a mysterious grey man walks forward and outstretches his arms to the sky. There is a massive pulse in the water to the port of Black Jim’s ship. Out of the depths arises a massive red squid with thousands of tentacles sprawling about. The crew of Poseidon’s Wrath are frantic as the beast approaches.

“Col. Sanders, Col. Mustard, man the ARR! Robin, Mr. Walker, man the Fire Cannons! Mr. Toombs, if you would so politely take some men and face all cannons to port, that would be much appreciated! And for Christ sake, someone bring me some rum! I’m thirsty as hell up here.” The captain continued to bark the orders as the beast approached.

With a slight splooshing noise, the beast vanished within firing range. The captain ordered the cannons to be moved back in the split second of silence before the tentacles wrapped up from the bottom of the boat. The beast, not anticipating saw blades, lost several tentacles in that fashion. This was merely a slight inconvenience for the kraken, who went around the blades instead. The fire cannons were effective and made calamari of their marks. The men fought valiantly and the beast was losing the fight. The beast was getting desperate, so it dove down momentarily.

“How many casualties so far?” shouted the captain.

“I saw two men grabbed and sucked under, while another five were knocked off with a swift swipe of an arm. Low casualties sir!” hollered Hooded Robin.

“Aye, that barstard will be-” with these words the beast attacked the stern of the ship. Its massive beak of a mouth protruding from the ocean below. Men were now being dragged off left and right. The captain watched as several of his crew were thrown into its beak and chomped in an explosion of red muck.

Dread Toombs and Devex were both making short work of any tentacles in their vicinity, slicing and dicing, and serving the calamari on a silver platter. Other men were shooting tentacles off, but this strategy was dangerous, for if you missed, you were squid food.

The squid then lifted its mouth out of the water and climbed its mouth up the side of the stern. That’s when the captain had a strangely familiar idea.

“Dread Toombs, Devex, cover me while I light the fuse,” bellowed the captain.

The three formed a triangle of death. The twins swung viciously, slicing anything in arms reach. The captain was holding his own with his dark steel rapier and his shotgun leg for when matters got sketchy. Dread Toombs on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He was running along tentacles, and then sliding down them while his war-axes dug into their slimy skin. Finally, the trio reached the wall of cannons at the stern. Devex lit the fuses, seeing that he was twice as efficient. Before the cannons fired, the ship started tilting upward, pouring several men into the mouth of the Kraken. Before long, the shots were fired and penetrated all around the soft mushy flesh of the Kraken’s mouth, even shattering its beak. There was a loud rawr and some violent thrashing before the beast fell limp and sank into the ocean.

Screams of merriment could be heard around the ship. The crew had lost a good twenty men, but could not believe that they had taken on such a massive beast and won. The ship was damaged, and the port ARR had limped off to the side, rendering it nearly useless, but it still dangled there.

Captain Black Jim watched as the man named Paul the Damned looked skyward once more. The winds came roaring back instantly, louder than ever before. Orders were shouted but unheard and only Black Jim and a handful of others saw the cannons shot onto their ship. The wind was beneficial and dragged most of the shots far starboard, but one landed right upon Col. Mustard. He was killed by Gen. Churchill, ship starboard, with a cannon. Dread Toombs took the wheel and steered the starboard ARR right into the belly of the enemy ship. The blades spun and spun through until they could spin no more. That’s when they boarded the ship.

Zombies were deployed first. Jim and Robin managed to blast the heads off several from close range, Dread Toombs hacked his way through the horde, managing to save Sky. The crew, much more accustomed to killing zombies, made easy work of the small horde deployed upon them. There was then an explosion from the hull of the enemy ship. It seems the entire hull was filled with the living dead and spontaneously burst through the planks. The creatures either fell into the ocean and climbed their way up, or crossed over the still deployed ARR. All the while, troops fired from overhead. Half of Devex decided to stop fighting and try some witchcraft instead. He managed to produce a lightning strike to land right upon the enemy’s mast. It fell onto Poseidon’s Wrath and created a bridge for people to cross over.

“Mr. Toombs! Take Lt. Dan and a few others and cross that there mast! Go now, we’ll cover you!” the captain shouts as he slices the brains right out of the closest zombified sailor. Dread Toombs makes quick work of all those in his path. He only aims for the head, leaving a trail of brains wherever he goes. Sadly, Lt. Dan with his peg legs, slips off the mast fifteen feet up. He falls into a mass of zombies, that so happens to be next to another gunpowder barrel. This time, Robin shoots the barrel, saving Lt. Dan from the horde. The only down side is that the explosion ripped his arms from his body, leaving him to fight with his sword in his mouth. The last that Black Jim sees of him is Dan’s body crawling across the deck, chasing after some zombies, while swinging at their ankles.

Black Jim charges forward, swinging his dark blade with a flurry that decapitates several foes at once, their heads rolling at his ankles. He manages to pair up with Mr. Walker, and the two chase Dread Toombs up the mast. As they reach the deck of the enemy ship, they are greeted with a barrage of bullets. The two dive to either side, narrowly avoiding death. When Black Jim gets up to fight their assailants, he sees they are all on the ground, as a result of Hooded Robin’s accuracy.

The storm continues to worsen as the battle rages on. The wind whips with a force similar to that of the tentacles of the Kraken. The mysterious grey man looks back up to the sky and this time brings his arms down with a violent thrust downward. A heavy, blinding rain soon follows. Deafening booms of thunder ring about while lightning cracks all around. The ships in the distance look as if though they are about to be swept away.

Black Jim and Sky Walker make their way up to the wheel where they witness Dread Toombs taking on a small militia of men. He spins with an unmatched fury, one blade still in each hand. He slices the arms of one red coat and suddenly turns and thrusts the hilts of his blades into the eyes of an attacking zombie. Dread Toombs then does something only seen by the captain once before. He takes his two blades and connects them at the hilts to create one double bladed weapon of death. He then proceeds to twirl his axes in an 8 formation, hacking and slashing through all whom oppose him. The blood splatters and showers him more than the pouring rain, drenching him in red. In an instant, the massive group of men and zombies surrounding the first mate lay either at his feet or stuck to his blade.

“Dread Toombs! Aye mate! Where be the bloody Gen. Churchill?” screamed the captain.

“Thar!” shouted Dread Toombs in response. The evil general suddenly appeared behind Walker. He had enough time to duck, but his sword wielding arm wasn’t so lucky. It was sliced clean off by the general’s glowing sword. In a fit of rage, Black Jim charges forward, telling his first mate to find the grey man. Jim parries with his dark sword and thrusts forward. He too is parried and off balance.

Churchill boasts “You can’t possibly win this! With the entire strength of Britain at my back, NO ONE CAN STOP-” He is cut off mid-sentence when Jim thrusts his leg bayonet into Churchill’s chest cavity. He then unloads several shotgun shots into the chest for good measure.

“Where’s your Britain now?” spits Jim into the lifeless face of the fearsome general.

With the loudest boom of thunder yet, Jim falls back into Sky Walker. The two look up and see a massive tornado turned water spout engulfing the entire fleet. They then feel that they are going down. Their assumptions are correct, the ship they have boarded is steadily heading under.

Jim yells to Mr. Walker “Go find Dread Toombs! Get him off this ship before it sinks down into the deep!” He then throws the boy into the direction he last saw his first mate. Black Jim then searches through the pockets of Churchill in search of what he was hiding and he finds what he was searching for. Jim then runs for the mast that leads to salvation. On the way down he sees Dread Toombs carrying the body of Sky Walker. He deposits the body by the stern and heads over to the wall of zombies.

Black Jim’s crew is looking very small at this point. There are maybe fifteen men left fighting the zombie horde as the enemy ship plummets into the deep below. Oddly enough, the zombies seemed to follow the ship and Poseidon’s Wrath was without action, aside from the water spout heading their way.

“Brace for impact!” yells the captain. The call is useless, seeing that no one was within earshot.

“Look out!” shouted Dread Toombs. The tornado suddenly vanished before their eyes. All of its contents, however, were promptly dumped upon the ship. A massive portion of one of the English fleet crashed directly into the stern, obliterating Sky Walker. While everything was crashing through the ship, Devex attempted to create a barrier to protect the ship. The barrier was slightly effective, protecting the ship from any more damage, but also allowing all zombies a nice easy landing. The crew was once again surrounded by the undead. Col. Sanders, completely exhausted, fell prey to the horde. Everyone else, weak but determined, cut and shot through the zombie sailors. The horde was near thin when one grabbed a hold of Devex. Digging its teeth in deep into the sober head of Devex, the drunken side stabbed his cold sword through his brother’s head, as well as the attacking zombie. Knowing he only had a short amount of time before he joined his brother, Devex ran into the thickest part of the remaining horde and bathed himself in the blood of the undead before they managed to rip apart his every limb and feast on his innards. Robin was then able to clear away the rest with his musket and flintlock.

The rain and wind finally subsided. Jim looked around at all the destruction. He then looked at his once beautiful ship, now no more than a couple of boards piled on one another. He finally looked to what remained of his crew. There stood Dread Toombs, Hooded Robin, himself, and three of his deckhands.

“Men! Listen up! What ye have done here today was the most courageous thing I have ever seen in me life. I am proud to have fought beside all of you. I’m proud to have fought beside all those who have died today as well. With their help, we conquered the greatest navy in the world. Today we saved countless innocents. Today, we-” the captain’s speech was interrupted by the sound of massive gurgling and bubbling coming from behind. The group turned to see what was making the noise and was horrified to see what it was.

Out from the deep, the Kraken had arisen, only this time, it was a zombie Kraken. Even more crazy than the zombie Kraken was the man riding the Kraken; Paul the Damned. He faced the group and commanded the Kraken to attack.

Black Jim dove upon Dread Toombs, saving his life from the crashing tentacles. Jim forced something into the pocket of Dread Toombs and said in his ear “Don’ ye dare die on me now! I need ye to git that back to home. I need ye to get to that there island and get yerself outta here. Go! NOW!” With a push towards the direction of the island, Dread Toombs grabbed Hooded Robin and the two started swimming. The captain and his three remaining crew stood to face the beast.

“With me boys! Hahaha! Follow me lead!” Black Jim laughed as he picked up a barrel of rum in one arm and swung a path forward towards the Kraken’s broken beak. His three men followed his lead, swinging wildly. The beast grabbed hold of one man and threw him as far as he would go. The others continued on, bravely venturing into the mouth of the Kraken. One man managed to make it to the beak, get the rum inside, and was ripped limb from limb a mere second later. The captain and one other pushed on until they could go no further.

“What happened next?!” asked Jack impatiently. It was now early morning, around 7:30.

“That I do not know boyo,” replied Dread Toombs. “All I know is that the beast suddenly started thrashing about and I could see a fire in its gut.”

“What about Paul the Damned? Where did he go?”

“Just disappeared or went down with the beast.”

“So your tellin’ me, yer crew killed a Kraken, twice, took on several hordes of zombies, and managed to take out an entire English fleet of 150 ships?” asked Jack inquisitively.

“Well the tornado did help,” admitted Mr. Toombs.

“How did you get off that island anyway?”

“Robin and me got a ride from dolphins all de way back to de nearest port,” explained Dread Toombs.

“Makes sense,” agreed Jack.

“Arr well that’s me stary! What say you to hear a proposition I have to offer ye now?” asked Dread Toombs after a moment’s silence.

“What are ye offerin’?” asked Jack.

“Well, yar see, there still be zombie trouble out there. An’ ye, ye’s a good lad. You look like ye can handle yerself rather well, don’ ye think? Well here be me proposition. I give you what Captain Black Jim gave unto me in the last seconds of his life, and ye pledge to follow in his footsteps.”

“Done.” Jack replied instantly, without any hesitation. “I’m ready to protect the people of these seas, no matter who the enemy is!”

“That’s me boyo right thar. Are ye ready fer this?” asked the old pirate excitedly.

“Aye aye mate.”

Dread Toombs then stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He placed it on the table in front of the young lad and watched.

“It’s a compass,” stated Jack, matter-of-factly.

“Aye it is,” replied Dread Toombs. “Now where do ye want to go? I’ll follow ye anywhere, Cap’n.”

Haikus by Devin Halvorsen

A Haiku from the Perspective of a Zombie

Brains, Brainz, Brainss, Braiinzz, Braaaiiinnsss

Brains. Brains. Brains. Brains. Brains. Brains. Brains.

Brainz. Brainss. Braiinnzz. Brains! BRAINZZ!!

The Struggle of the Dyslexic Zombie

Brian. Brian. Bri-

What do you want from me Bob?

Brian’s brains. Yum! Brains!

Barbara…

There’re zombies out there

They’re coming for you Barbara

You better run now

A Taylor Swift Zombie Parody by Devin Halvorsen

Once upon a time, one big mistake ago

You were in my sights, you and me alone

You found me, You found me, You found me

You wanted to eat me, and I didn’t like that

And when I shot you down, you came right back

A zombie, A zombie, A zombie

And you’re long gone, coming closer to me

And I realize, you’re coming to eat me

‘Cause I knew you were dead when you broke in

The stench of rotten flesh

And death caused my head to spin

Then you pushed me down, ah

I knew you were dead when you broke in

You tried to bite off my head

Took one bite and my world came to an end

Now I’m a zombie now

Ugh, Ugh, Brainz, Brainz, Brainz

Ugh, Ugh, Brianz Brainz, Brainz

Perception by Jennifer York

2 July 2067

My Dear Lily,

I’ve got no good news to bring, I’m afraid. I’ve had little luck in recovering Alex, she’s clearly better at covering her tracks than I imagined. She was brought up well, I know, I just never expected finding her to be so difficult. I did, however, come across an old compound in Virginia I believe she resided in for some time. To no surprise the area was spotless, cleaned of any potential supplies and free of the undead for miles. I’ve decided to try my luck further North around Pennsylvania. If you recall, she always talked nonsense of taking up permanent residence near Harrisburg. Sorry I’ve nothing further to report, stay safe.

I’ll write again soon

Yours Always,

Ben H.

5 July 2067

Dearest Lilian,

I was passing through Lancaster when I happened upon her truck, abandoned on the side of the highway, parked near the forest’s edge. Coming upon it I felt my heart catch in my throat, I’ve always been hopeful yet so often am I disappointed that I could hardly believe my luck to be that other than disappointing. Stepping out of my car I was quickly assured it was hers, but a quick search of it left me only with a pile of protein bar wrappers and a pair of socks, nothing which could link me to her destination. For a moment I almost wished she were more incapable of surviving on her own so I didn’t have to struggle so to find her. Yet I know I would fear her safety and worry incessantly if she weren’t as capable.

While searching the car I was unpleasantly jumped by a hunter and nearly beheaded on account of his mistaking me for one of the undead. When I inquired of Alex he claimed to have seen her not 12 hours ago clear out her truck and take off into the woods. But we both know despite Alex’s fearlessness and skill she is not stupid or rash, and to run into the woods alone would be both. Instinct tells me Alex bribed this man to throw off any trackers, though with what I know not, seeing as hunters desire little besides the heads of the risen dead.

Despite my sureness that Alex switched her truck for something less recognizable and continued traveling North I searched the woods for 2 hours anyway. I could not have rested had I not made sure she was not residing somewhere dark surrounded by all the perils which forests presently hold. Upon finding no signs of Alex, but many biters, I retreated back to the highway and decided to finish the rest of the way to Harrisburg and if I find no sign of Alex there either, I know not yet what I will do.

Yours,

Ben H.

6 July 2067

Lily,

I’ve run into quite a bit of trouble, but don’t fret on my account. Yesterday, I searched every inch of Harrisburg and didn’t find any sign of Alex, on account of it was pretty late already and nearly dark I hunkered down in an abandoned food cellar just off the highway. There was plenty of everything, guns, throwing knives, machetes, ammo, food, water, clothes, and there was even a generator so I had light! I thought I was lucky in finding such a lovely place to spend the night. I fell asleep around 11 I believe, after cleaning up and eating canned spaghetti, and was woken maybe an hour later by an awful clanging and banging upstairs. Me being hopeful as always I ran up armed with a single 9-inch blade expecting to see Alex clamoring around in the dark in search of a light switch, I should have known Alex would never make such a ruckus.

As you’ve probably guessed it was a horde of roughly 12 biters, all fresh ones too; their skin not yet taut and leathery, though they still emanated a putrid smell which burned my eyes. I watched their stench rise off of them in thick, salty, waves.

My blade sliced across the room, splitting through 4 or 5 of them before they noticed me. Time slowed and I watched their thick blood gush forth. Their gore cloaked the room, masking everything but the odor still radiating noisily and stuffing itself up my nostrils, suffocating me.

One of them grabbed me from behind, lunging for my throat. His rotting flesh squished against my own and bile rose in my throat as his stench forced its way into my mouth and choked me. I swung my knife behind me, managing to slice through one of his arms. I watched as it fell soundlessly through the air, striking the ground heavily and there it sat surrounded in an orb of dense, murky green light, sucking the color from the space around it.

Regaining my composure I jammed my blade up from his jaw to the tip of his skill, the crack was delicious and sweet and my mouth watered with desire as I gazed upon my hands swinging, slicing, destroying. I was relaxed, my movements swift and sure.

Moments later I gazed upon my handiwork and smiled before collapsing to the ground heaving. The spaghetti from earlier didn’t look so out of place on the floor amidst the rest of the gore. I was quivering all over, my muscles tense and painful. After trying to stand up I quickly discovered I’d suffered from a dislocated shoulder and broken jaw bone. Upon realizing there was work to be done I regained my composure and returned to the cellar to treat my injuries.

It took me almost an hour to pop my shoulder back in place and in all honesty it hurt worse than any other battle wounds I’ve sustained over my lifetime. There wasn’t much I could do about my jaw besides wrap it up to prevent movement and by the time I finished I was so tired I fell asleep within seconds of lying down. When I woke a few hours later my jaw was throbbing terribly and how I wished you were here to mix up one of your secret herbal concoctions and kind words to soothe the pain, but alas that’s impossible isn’t it?

I’ve been thinking Lilian, about the last time I saw you. And things which were once blurry and indecipherable are clearer now, but I’m afraid to think too much. It’s worse when I dream, I can’t control the memories then. I figure I best keep writing and focus on finding Alex, if I think too much I begin to hurt. So I have to believe you’re reading this right now and I have to believe my memories have somehow been jumbled up with someone else’s and the visions which haunt my dreams aren’t mine.

Yours forever,

Ben H.

10 July 2067

My Lily,

I am so sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote, and I’m sorry I wrote of such troubling things. Forgive me.

I stayed in the cellar for another day hoping to leave with a jaw bone which didn’t feel as if it were being constantly beaten with an iron rod. I was not so lucky. I left mid-day after my last letter to you, stocking my car with as much food and ammo as would fit, before taking off in search of Loysville, a small town a ways from Harrisburg. As I was packing up the car, every few moments stopping to gasp through the pain of my jaw (I’m beginning to worry I didn’t set the bone right which could certainly account for my agony), an elderly woman, probably in her early seventies, approached me. With long

straight silver hair down to her waist tied back loosely I couldn’t help but be reminded of how Alex used to wear her hair, in the same fashion but with honey-brown locks and heavy bangs sweeping across her brow.

Sir, your name Ben? I’m supposed to be looking for a man named Ben coming through here. She spoke crisply and I imagine she was a teacher of some sort before the plague given her authoritative yet gentle tone.

Yes madam. Were you here Lily you would have berated me for saying so little, when clearly this woman had met Alex, or how else would she have known my name? But I lack your confidence and was too stunned to say much of anything. Why do you ask?

There was a girl here not 3 days ago, said to watch out for a man named Ben and send him down to Mississippi if I saw him. Being the old lady I am I inquired as to who this Ben was, and this girl gave me a mighty fine response, spoke all rehearsed-like saying you were some old flame, got too controlling and were out to get her. But like I said, being the old lady I am I can read people, and this girl was spitting lies faster than the spread of this god-awful plague. She then took a moment to shake her head in a way which made me so sad I made the mistake of reaching a hand out to her shoulder. She quickly had my arm locked behind my back and a knife at my throat. I may be old, but I’m not stupid. Now how about you keep your hands to yourself?

Yes madam, of course, my mistake, won’t happen again I promise. I gasped out. She’d struck my jaw when she put her blade to my throat and I was seeing stars.

All right then. She let me go and smile at me sweetly. Now about this girl, how do you know her?

She’s my daughter, adopted daughter actually. My wife Lilian and I found her on an abandoned farm when she was maybe 5 and have looked after her ever since. She ran away almost 2 months ago, I’m just trying to bring her home before she gets hurt. Without realizing it, I’d started crying. You can imagine how embarrassed I was Lily. So quickly I wiped my eyes and stood up straight.

She eyed me for a few moments then slowly started nodding. Okay. She’s in Loysville, first house off the highway.

The next few moments were a blur; all I could focus on was getting to Alex before she left again. Apparently Alex stayed with Kathy, the elderly lady, for the night and Kathy was able to convince Alex to tell her where she was really going. I’ll sleep better at night, she told Alex.

I took off pretty soon after that and currently I’m sitting outside Alex’s house, it’s a little after midnight and I don’t want to frighten her, the last thing I need is another broken bone. I’ll wait till sunup, but she’s here Lily. She’s really here. I found her, we’ll be home in less than 2 days’ time.

See you soon,

Ben H.

12 July 2067

My Lilian?

I’m bad. Alex is lying next to me. She’s so beautiful Lily I wish you could see her. Alex told me some things. I don’t want to believe what she’s saying, but I’ve seen them in my dreams.

Do you know what she said Lily? It’s awful.

At around 4 I decided I couldn’t wait any longer and snuck inside and down to the basement where she was sleeping.

Alex I whispered, holding her hands down by her side.

She jerked awake, for a second her eyes were fearful, but when she recognized my face she relaxed. Ben? How did you- Kathy. She shook her head knowingly. Can’t trust anyone, you would think I’d have learned that by now.

I took her head in my hands. It’s time to go home, Lily’s worried sick. Pack your things. She looked at me curiously, then her expression saddened and she looked at me almost pityingly.

Ben, don’t you…Her voice trailed off as if she were unsure of what to say next. Then I got scared, I don’t know why but I was afraid of what she was going to ask me. So I walked away from her and started gathering her things.

Alex, we really should get out of here. I’m afraid the trip back is going to be a long one. There will be plenty of walkers throughout Virginia, there was an explosion at a plant about a week ago and I figure by now they’ll all be back up on whatever limbs survived. Alex was staring at me, and her expression made me furious. GO! I yelled at her Lily and I felt so bad, you know how I hate yelling. But she didn’t even flinch; I think somehow she was expecting it.

Ben, sit down. She gestures to her makeshift cot in the corner. We need to talk. At this point, I was numb. I walked to the bed like the monsters who’ve turned this world into one of suffering and loss.

She proceeded to tell me things which I’d locked tight into corners of my brain to never be disturbed. Some of what she said I’d already seen in the deep of the night, visions which had escaped their little boxes somehow and crawled into my consciousness. I had the child-like desire to cover my ears and scream until she walked away, but I was paralyzed.

After she finished talking, she looked at me expectantly. I just shook my head for what felt like hours. At some point she went and lied down, and sometime later I joined her. I didn’t sleep though; I just closed my eyes and watched. All of my boxes were open, the locks busted and I couldn’t shut them away like I did last time. I remember everything Lily and I miss you.

I remember when you turned, how I let it happen. I should have been running behind you, then I would have been the one dragged down and bitten and you would have been the one who severed its head from its body and watched the blood gush forth onto me. It should have been me shivering on our bed, begging you to kill me, and it should have been you refusing to do so until you couldn’t possibly refuse me any longer.

That’s when Alex ran away, when she realized how broken I was. I tried to hurt her Lily. I saw evil everywhere after you left, because you weren’t there to show me all of the good in the world. Alex ran because she knew I was past help and would hurt her given the chance, but I don’t know why. How could I hurt our daughter?

So I started writing, and Alex’s leaving gave me reason to live. If I found her surely you would come home. We were a family and you always said nothing could change that. When Alex left I knew you couldn’t come back until we were a family again. So I wrote to tell you when you could come home. When I found Alex you would come back, I had to believe that.

But it’s not true is it? You can’t come back, because I killed you and I buried your body behind our house underneath that oak tree you loved so much. I miss you Lily, but I’ll see you soon just like I promised. Alex is strong, she doesn’t need me, she’ll be fine.

I’m looking at Alex sleeping across the room now. Her pistol is gleaming in my hands, reflecting the light from the single kerosene lamp on the dusty, old table not 5 feet from me. I did all of this for you Lily, when you read this you’ll know I always loved you and if I could change everything I would.

Yours forever and ever,

Ben H.

Ben then raised the loaded pistol to his head, a few tears escaping as he looked at his beloved daughter. He knew she’d be fine, she’d be better without him. She stirred, her eyes opening only slightly, then springing open when she noticed Ben on the stairwell.

Ben what are you-

The End

the dead will rise (it’s ironic) by Otitodirichukwu Ihebuzor

The world is stuck in an odd place. Living in the woods she never really got to experience it, but really, it is. It’s like humanity is straddling a fence, with one leg dangerously being pulled by the undead and the other, fitted for the latest pair of designer boots.

The backwoods didn’t have a McDonalds where you could order zombie fingers (petrified, purified and all other -ied’s to ensure your safety!) or a Macys where you could buy authentic, zombie-ripped jeans (from China!) or a movie theater where you could watch Night of the Living Dead and fire your gun at the screen if you were in the 3-D section.

The city was like someone had saran-wrapped their uncle, put a bullet through his head before he could turn and then took him out to town on a date.

In contrast, the woods was an anti-climactic nightmare where fear clung to the bark of dead trees and hung in the air like morning dew. Always scared, forever waiting for something to snake around your heel like bracken and pull you down, yet it never did. The woods were quiet, and just like the living, the dead preferred noise and ruckus. It was how you could discern the presence of life, or in the case of the undead, the presence of another meal.

Despite the eternal fear of the unknown, the woods had been so great because of the quiet. Zombies found victims through noise, but surrounded by trees, the survivors had learned how to walk with the snap of brush under their heels as quiet as a fox’s. Wasn’t like that anymore: The woods were loud, loud with the sounds of dying.

The government hadn’t been kind enough as to send out a memo detailing the raid on the underbrush, no, they had just stormed in with the goal of ‘doing business’. The forest came alive with the sound of their heavy heels on fallen leaves and guns pop-pop-popping. The zombies, once only satisfied with the occasional child who had wandered too far from the herd of survivors, were now startled from their starving slumber.

In all her years of living with the Herd (seven if she could remember correctly, as she had been welcomed from the side of the road, as a child running from the memories of a face, blown through by a bullet and smiling at her with black dripping down the chin.), she had never heard of so many people dying by bite. It was as if the government had brought the zombies out there and then staged a rescue mission to polish their resume. In the end, the officials claim victory for cleansing the forest and killing seven-tenths of its living inhabitants. They say that they have saved the feral-children as the round them into the stomach of a grumbling box and take them away.

She’s one of those children.

She’s brought to the city, an orphan-yet-not-really, as they don’t know her age but she looks old enough to work. Stranded at the city gates with other children and ordered not to run, she’s rushed off to a sterile box inside the mouth of a weeping box on wheels.

For a while the sterile box—the hospital building, she learns it is called—is her home. She doesn’t like it one bit. Doesn’t like how cramped it is, how clean it is, how there are people who move with the motivation of a starving zombie despite the breath in their lungs.

She’s released soon after the ultra-sterile people poke her with enough metal twigs and decide that she’s ‘clean’.

(She guesses it’s a code-word for ‘no-fun’. She doesn’t writhe at the poking as much as the other child they brought to the city from the Herd. He outright refused to lay down nice, instead taking their metal twigs and poking it right back into them, in their eyes. He stays much, much longer in the sterile box.)

Surprisingly, maybe even luckily, she isn’t just booted out of the hospital to land on her butt. Before she leaves, a small lady at the front desk gives her a small card with her face on it, a folder with papers and tells her that a car—so that’s what they are called—is going to take her somewhere safe.

Because she can’t read, she has the lady tell her what’s on the card and the papers.

The card is her, the lady says. Shane, her name, is written at the very top and underneath false information such as her age and birthdate, is written alongside true information such as her height weight and eye color.

The papers, she’s told that she need not worry about them. They are for the Home, the place that is safe. There she will get food, water, clothes and ah, it seems the car is here.

The Home is a place for children, stuck between childhood and adulthood because of the undead, to eat, sleep, stay and eventually find a job. There she meets Krystal. Krystal is the first person to talk to her other than the woman that owns the Home. Krystal is a working girl and the galaxies of difference between them are numerous. When they meet, Shane can’t help but wonder if they are living in the same world.

Krystal was born in the city, yet made an orphan at a young age when both her mothers were turned in an instance involving a stray cat. According to her, with the turning happening so long ago, it’s like it never happened at all.

Krystal has nice boots. Nice shorts too, which hug what Shane presumes to be a flat tummy, and exposes the long expanse of her pale legs.

She wears a ‘The-Dead-Will-Rise” shirt—ironically, she tells Shane, though for the life of her, Shane can’t spot the irony at all-- and has hair that’s too red and shiny to come out of a box. She works at an ‘alternative’ shop that sells stuff like the ‘Dead-Will-Rise’ t-shirts and weird instruments that if you blow into puffs dizzy smoke into your brain.

It’s weird, but the store is actually quite popular.

They become fast friends and so excited is she to have a new friend. Krystal introduces her to the shopkeeper, Anthem.

Anthem, a short woman with a cat smile, invites Shane to work for her if she needs the cash. Shane accepts the offer before it is fully out of her kitty mouth, because they both know its an offer immune to rejection.

A few days spent working at the shop and Shane surmises that if not for Krystal’s kindness, she wouldn’t be allowed within a two mile radius of the shop. The bright and dull color mix, the sick thump of vintage music, dubstemp or something, it isn’t her.

Eventually, she gets used to it.

It takes a week from her to transition from woods to wearing a shirt that claims her to be ‘The Whitest Boy Alive’ (Bold white font against black print, tight fitted, I think it’ll hug your curves nice enough, you buying? That’ll be ten-ninetey-nine, please and thank you, have a nice day!)

“Did the apocalypse even happen here?” It’s a sticky and slow afternoon and while on an early lunch break, the words slip out. Krystal is munching on the zombie fries that she can’t seem to coax Shane into liking, despite insisting that they aren’t actual zombie fingers. They are greasy and grey, yet Krytal pushes them past her lips with stunning hunger. Maybe that’s why her stomach is so flat.

Shane isn’t sure if she spoke the words aloud until Krystal laughs a loud, girly laugh that has no doubt been perfected, and slaps Shane on the shoulder lightly like she’s dished out top-notch Saturday Night Live material.

(That’s another something she’s learned in the city: television. People sit, or stand or walk or run inside the box, except not really because they are actually somewhere else, but they do it all for the amusement of the watcher. She quite likes television, especially when the people inside the box arrest a ‘criminal’—a living human who has done something once considered against the law, like murder or rape—or the ones where a character find out that he is actually his brother’s son. Krystal prefers them men who sit inside and poke fun at irrelevant news.

“It’s classic,” she assures Shane. “American culture.”)

“Yeah, it did,” The laughter is still in her words and causes her to hiccup, regurgitating a bit of finger on her heavily-glossed lip. “We just, like, got over it.”

Shane bites her tongue instead of asking how one gets over the zombie apocalypse.

Soon, she learns how.

Zombie-slaying? More like hunting. In the city it’s a sport. There are no uniforms and it really isn’t a game, but in some sort of way, it is. The neighborhood kids take their shotguns and studded leather jackets and black ‘Whitest Boy Alive’ t-shirts and go out hunting. The location is anyplace just outside the city: forgotten malls and boutiques, infested theaters, run down restaurants with hungry, dead customers. The objective: Kill and kill and kill some more.

It’s their way of coping, recognizing that the undead aren’t scary figments of imagination to be wiped like dream dust from sleepy eyes.

It’s a Saturday afternoon and the shopkeeper left with the weak promise that they she would be coming back. Taking this as a sign that their shift was over, Krystal calls her group of girlfriends over. They are a band of six girls, Krystal’s crew. They are dressed loud-colored shorts with their legs exposed and pop punk song blasting into their eardrums. Most have wacky hair colors bought from this same store and have the same glazed-over and glossed up look as Krystal.

They call themselves Flower Power and boast a record of forty-eight kills in two hours.

It’s a Saturday afternoon and they have nothing better to do so---

“Hey Shane, you want to come with?”

“Yeah, sure,” Her lips curve into a tight smile. What the hell.

“Count me in.”

 

Turning to Dust by Taylor Pittman

Clothes littered the floor of their makeshift bedroom; the disheveled surroundings seeming to call out for their host to return. A gift from their father lay haphazardly on the edge of the cardboard dresser as a reminder of the times before the wretched poverty in which they reside. This reminder, this tiny locket, had been shunned by its owner for years until she rediscovered it and, in a rage, tried to destroy it. The small boy saved it from the flames, which would have been the trinket’s demise; he knew she preferred to pretend that her old life didn’t exist to remembering the pain that came with losing her loved ones. He picked up the small necklace; its cool metal felt nice against the minor burns that remained on his calloused hands. He examined the locket and the portrait within it; it was of a beautiful young couple that, while not unfamiliar, was unrecognizable to him. He knew his sister would be furious if she knew the gift was in his possession, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

One the other side of their shared room, the boy lifted up a loose floorboard revealing a box, his treasure box. It is in this box that he hides the things his older sister tried to destroy, lost memories of the childhood that was stolen from them when the plague began. He place the necklace with the many items he’d collected over the past 10 years, letters, legal documents, and a stack of old polaroids from the people who’d protected and cared for them in their parents absence. His favorite sat at the top of the unorganized pile; he got misty-eyed just looking at the loving faces of the parents he never knew, but that wasn’t what made it so special. It was towards the bottom of the aged photograph, he and his sister stood hand in hand and for the only time he can remember, she smiled and was truly happy.

A thud sounded and his sister stormed in through the open doorway, her clothes bloody, her expression dark. She shoved past him and began recklessly throwing her belongings in a small backpack. He quickly pushed the box of memories back into its hiding place and watched as his sister swept the clutter from all corners of the shared bedroom.

“ Alex…” Zaine attempted to get her attention, no luck, “Alexia, what’s wrong?” She looked in his direction from where she stood, her eyes seemingly lifeless, defeated. Her figure still shaking from the terror she had just escaped, the ghosts of frenzied tears lingered on her pale face.

“We have to leave, Zaine. They’re back.”

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After abandoning their former safe haven, the siblings hid amongst the neglected flora and fauna of the North Caroline Appalachians. The discarded corpses of tourists littered the trails of the forests but that didn't deter the pair, they’d agreed that they would rather meet their end as naturally as possible, even if that meant getting mauled by a bear. The moans of the deceased were carried through the air like the midnight songs of wolves. Alexia, with a gun in her hand and a blade at her side, takes the lead, pushing through the forest as quickly as possible; however, Zaine was slower, his sister had always done the hunting for food and, therefore, knew the land better.

The sharp cracking of limbs could be heard to the right of the dirt trail and the beginnings of the devil’s army could be seen through the sparse covering of the trees. Alexia was first to respond, sprinting from the pathway she took off towards a denser gathering of trees in which she often hid from the ghastly figures from the deepest pits of hell. Zaine followed closely behind, gripping the blade by his side tightly.

“Watch your step!” Alex called out to the boy who was falling further and further behind. No sooner than the words left her mouth Zaine let out a cry of pain as he slipped on the wet remains of decaying fungi. He picked himself back up but before he could gain his bearings, they were on him. Alexia watched, helpless, from the cover of the thicket. One of the wretched had the small boy pinned to the ground in a seemingly fatal rampage. With the wet grass against his back and the drooling dead above him, Zaine lashed out with his short blade, the small knife cutting quickly through the rotting skin of the infected. He landed a harsh blow to the chest of the daemon,

slipped away from beneath the creature’s cold stare. Turning quickly, he gripped the back of the creature’s head and smashed its brittle skull on the broad remnants of a tree trunk. Feeling the hands of another mindless being on his back, he shoves the creature away from him before swiftly slicing through the creature’s deteriorating neck. As the head thudded against the ground, gunshots rang out from the thick cover of trees and Zaine dove to the ground for cover as he began to crawl away from the bloodthirsty mob.

Alexia fired shot after shot into the decomposing brains of the unsuspecting dead until her brother reached the safety of the trees. Turning from the horrid masses of decaying flesh and pushing through the thick underbrush, they came to a river winding through the thick forest. Zaine didn’t hesitate to wade into the deep water holding his knapsack above his head, pausing when he remembered his sister’s fear of deep waters. He looked back at Alexia, her face frozen in terror with the memories of a horrible childhood swimming accident.

“Alexia…”

“I can’t. I can’t, Zaine, you know it,” Tears were building up in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. He looked up at her and then at the staggering horde slowly gaining on them, before extending an arm towards the shorter, dark-haired girl.

“Come on, I’ll walk us across just hang on to me.” It was a slow ordeal. The current was strong and it was difficult to stay balanced with the added weight of the older girl and the heavy box filled with remnants of the life he never knew. He collapsed to the ground when they reached the other side, adrenaline surging through his veins, and watched as their stalkers’ fragile bodies were swept away by the strong current. The dim light of the forest in the setting sun cast a romantic glow on the gaunt skin of the recently deceased.

“It’s getting dark. We should find shelter.” Obviously over her previous preoccupation with the water, and as blunt as ever, Alexia struts past the boy who just saved her life, her expression cold, and empty once again. Compassionate blue eyes followed her; wishing that for once she would let him worry about her, take care of her; he wanted her to know that she wasn’t as alone as she thought. He walked several feet behind her now, dragging his feet and listening to the forest come alive with the melodies of Mother Earth’s creations. He remembered being told by a family friend that his mother would take him on walks through the forest to the park near their house when he was a toddler.

This friend, Daryll, was the one to take them in after they lost their family to the virus. He was the one who taught them to defend themselves against the undead and taught the elder how to hunt. The two children had lived with Daryll from the time they were small children until Alexia reached the age of 14. Now three years later, and Zaine still very much a child, albeit a large one at the age of 12, they found themselves standing in front of the overgrown gates of a building Zaine knew he wasn’t supposed to recognize.

He’d only seen it in the aging photographs he carried within his bag and he never thought he’d see it in person but there he stood just yards away from the manor he resided in for the first 4 years of his life. Hastily masking his awestruck expression, he glanced in his sister’s direction before pressing forward, past the rusted iron gates and crossed the overgrown front lawn of the once well-kept estate. The twilight made this once stately land seem all the more ghostly, haunted with the spirit of a happy family. He held the lead as he crept forward onto the creaking porch and pushed on the door only to have it swing open and reveal another ghost from a more memorable time. It was Daryll.

The man standing before them was trustworthy, he could help them. His graying brown hair, and slightly wrinkled face gave testimony to the stress that accompanies the life of a survivor but his kind grin said that he could still be trusted. Zaine could have jumped for joy when he saw the man open his arms as an invitation for a hug but before he could move closer to the man that cared for him like his own son, the distinct sound of a gun being cocked stopped him. Alexia had her aim fixed on the older man and her finger lay poised on the trigger of

the handgun he taught her to use. Her usually stoic face contorted with rage as the younger boy’s blossomed with confusion.

“Get away from him,” she barked towards the youngest of the three, the edge in her quiet voice cut through the crisp autumn air, sending chills down her brother’s spine. The third party’s guilty eyes glanced between the two as he lowered his arms and backed away from the dangerous scene.

“Alexia, think about what you’re doing,” the man tried to reason with the furious girl, to no avail, she simply yelled right back for him to shut it.

“Alex, what’s going on? Are you crazy?” Zaine didn’t understand what could have made his sister like this; she was always so calm and collected. He watched as this animal side took over his sister and for the first time ever, he was afraid of her. “What’re you doing, Alex? That’s the man who raised us!” Alexia snorted.

“You’re wrong, dear brother, that’s the man who murdered our parents!” Shocked, he looked over at Daryll, who hid his face in shame. Zaine felt his heart sink, and he fell to his knees. The parents he longed to know, the only man he trusted with his life, everything he thought he knew about his childhood was just shattered before his very eyes; the betrayal crashed down on him harder than anything he could have imagined. Gunshots sounded above him and left a ringing in his ears, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the horrendous crime committed just feet away; something else was very wrong.

He could feel his blood pulsing through his veins, surging, burning. His vision began to leave him and his body felt numb except for a sharp pain concentrated on his lower left side. He lost all sense of being and realized far too late what had happened. Tears streamed down the face of a child that had been forced by nature to grow up far too quickly, he pulls his bloody shirt away to expose the open wound; he was bitten, infected by the evil of the wretched creatures that had taken his happiness from him. Just before succumbing to the darkness dancing within him, he remembers his sister, and she is the last thing that runs through his rapidly decaying brain. I guess she really is alone now, he thinks as he loses himself.

Sun of a Gun (Zombie Parody) by Taylor Pittman

Once bitten, twice shy

Too much of your sickness makes me die

I waited all night

But you tried much too hard to bite

I had to put you down

Don’t care what happens now

Don't want to live in darkness

Don't want to be spun around

You go down, down, down

I fall out of love with you

One more round, round, round

Is shot from my gun

You go down, down, down

I know I can’t save you

When you’re found, found, found

You’ll be shot with a gun

Shot with a gun

Girls scream for you

You can make their grey skin flush

You’ve got the humans fooled

But I am ready for this ambush

I had to put you down

Don’t care what happens now

Don't want to live in darkness

Don't want to be spun around

You go down, down, down

I fall out of love with you

One more round, round, round

Is shot from my gun

You go low, low, low

I wont try to save you

When you go, go, go

You’ll be shot with a gun

Turning to Dust (“Into Dust” Zombie Parody) by Taylor Pittman

Still crawling

Soulless but back again

I cried today

Inside me today

We are broken like you; our eyes have turned to dust

Infection of our hearts and our heads

Trapped in this unforgiving hell

Could I possibly be fading?

Or have something to live for?

I can feel you growing colder

You’re losing yourself under my watch

Under my watch

It was I, breathless and torn

The one who brought you to this cruel fate

We are strangers, now unable to love

Turning into dust

Turning into dust

 

Guardians of the Nine Realms by Tony Courville

Part I

Quintevin Turvilson was the fastest and deadliest slayer that I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. It did sadden me so to see him depart as he did, but he died for a just cause: the salvation of the human race. I shall never forget the man who so boldly challenged the revenants with the same valor with which Thor dared to combat the frost giants of Jötunheimr.

The remainder of our ravaged unit gathered to send him off to Valhalla with the noble funeral of sending him into the bay of Hudson in a longboat to be set ablaze by our finest, and only, archer, Ivarn. We gazed upon the burning spectacle that sailed into the dark night. As we watched the flames engulf the boat, we knew for certain that his spirit was lifted by those flames to, once again, regain its rightful place in the halls of Valhalla. We may have mourned the death of our fallen ally, but it was most important to celebrate his life as we relieved the local tavern of their meager supply of ale.

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Banished. Banished to the pathetic and revolting realm of Midgar and for what? For refusing to follow that gruesome command, but it was the right call. I don’t regret it for a second, but I dragged my unit down here with me, tainting their honor. They claim it to be their pride to follow their leader, but I see them struggling to adapt from the glorious lifestyle we knew in Asgard. Well, most are struggling, Bolgrim seems to have found great pleasure in the taverns, but that is in the nature of a dwarf.

Say what you will about Bolgrim, whether it’s his endless appetite or his obsession with ale, but he is the most adept explosives expert to step foot in Asgard. Standing at a towering four feet, he intimidated very few men, though this came to be an advantage as he watched them burn in the fiery eruption from his Darkfire bomb. For a man that carries twice the amount of alcohol as he does explosives, he never seems short of munitions. Bolgrim The Fierce has been an integral piece of our unit.

Next in our unit, my close ally in combat: Ivarn. Ivarn Malastar is our archer from Álfheimr, home of the elves. She has been trained in archery by the finest masters in all of Álfheimr since she was but a young elfling. We’ve known each other since we were recruited into Odin’s royal guard in our younger years. She can be unbelievably creative with his bow and arrows, able to strike down even the rock giants of Jötunheimr with a single arrow.

Few names in our group were feared as much as Björn Esbernson, the frost giant. Björn betrayed his people in exchange for refuge in Asgard. The only requirements were a lunar cycle of reconnaissance in Jötunheimr and sworn allegiance to Odin’s armada. His wielding of his enchanted mace struck fear in our enemies’ hearts and, quite literally, froze them in their tracks. Legends have been told of the day that he defeated Fenrir and his pack after being stranded in the wilderness for nearly a fortnight.

 

There is one man in our group more fearsome than Björn, a man whose name is spoken only in whispers. This man lives in the shadows and lethally strikes without warning. Quintevin Turvilson is the only man I have ever seen to be able to defeat an army of orcs without being seen by one of them. When he fights, he does so with the ferocity of three men at once; it is often rumored that he actually has six arms as three men do, but I have the privilege of knowing him personally. I am there to see behind the shadowy curtain, and he’s the kind of guy that would sell his mother for a cheap slave, in fact, he did. That slave is now his wife, it was a very touching ceremony, but that’s neither here nor there. I am proud to fight by his side -side is a relative term here, he’s usually in the skies on his dragon, Sahloknir. The two of them are the deadliest pair of fighters in all of the nine realms.

What unit would be complete without a leader? My name is Baalgraf Ulfricson, son of Ulfric and Aela, bane of Jötunheimr. I was schooled in dark magic from not long after my birth in Svartálfheimr, yes, the home of the dark elves. While I may have been born a dark elf, my policies and ethics do not align with theirs in any way, nor do my family’s, they are of good blood. Ivarn and I built this unit from almost nothing. While all of our team has been trained by the finest masters, besides the self-instructed Bolgrim, they had always been better on their own, until our team was formed. We were the most powerful force in the nine realms, only under the command of Odin himself and his general, General Tuliarn. It was only after we refused Tuliarn’s order to completely annihilate all of Jötunheimr that we were banished to Midgard; we now live out our days in the mystical land of Canada on the planet Earth. This planet had been frigid but hospitable, that is, until the invasion.

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It was in our fifth lunar cycle on this planet, our fight to return to Asgard raged on, but the night was calm, but something was amiss. The cold air kissed our flesh like a familiar embrace, wolves howled, and cheers could be heard from a nearby sporting stadium. We honed our skills as usual, Björn was freezing nearby trees, Ivarn hunted delicious rabbits, Quintevin danced through the shadows, and Bolgrim terrorized a family of beavers. I meditated in my usual fashion, but there was a disturbance in this area’s aura; the aura was sharper than usual, but I could not discover why. That’s when it happened; a bridge broke through the barrier between Midgard and Hel.

“Draugr!” I cried as the undead poured from the bridge, filling the forest. “Bolgrim, Ivarn, now’s the time!”

“About damn time. This arrow should do the trick.” Bolgrim passed an arrow with a bulky head to Ivarn, who proceeded to launch it into a lesser revenant’s skull. The arrow detonated with a massive explosion and launched smaller explosives into the surrounding horde. The horde was substantially weakened, but more remained. Ivarn continued firing arrows into the horde as Björn smashed through the revenant with his mace. Quintevin was nowhere to be seen, but the quick dropping of revenants told me he was in the thick of things. I began launching fireballs into the horde, burning the undead in their place. It was not long before the horde was demolished and the bridge was destroyed.

“What in Odin’s name just happened?” Ivarn stood in awe of the tear that had been torn in the realm barriers.

 

“I knew something was wrong, the aura felt too sharp, too weak.” I explained to my unit what I had been feeling in the area.

“And you thought that wasn’t important enough to share with the group?” Bolgrim paced about on his tiny, dwarven legs, “It could be Ragnarok!”

“It isn’t Ragnarok, I can assure you of that; remember your place, Bolgrim.” Suddenly, the joyful cheers from the stadium became shrieks of terror. Our team formed ranks and charged toward the stadium.

Innocent citizens of Quebec were fleeing in every direction as more revenants emerged from a new tear into the stands, devouring the unlucky souls who sat in the wrong section. While charging into battle, I collided with a man fleeing from the scene; the man fell to the ground, and as I charged on, I could hear a faint, “sorry, eh?”

Bolgrim charged into the middle of the horde with his prototype Darkfire suit; revenants surrounded him, and just as it seemed that death was certain, Bolgrim pulled the chord on his suit. Flames erupted from his suit killing over half of the revenants surrounding him. The rest of the team picked of the remaining zombies and made sure to evacuate the remaining civilians. We distanced ourselves from the newly burning stadium before authorities arrived to give us time to plan our next actions.

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These temporary housing buildings must be appreciated. After just showing the kind lady at the desk our weaponry, she gave us free rooms for the night and free sustenance. Once we settled in, we met in a room to discuss strategy.

“Two tears in one night, we all know this will not end well.”

“You are not wrong Ivarn, but we controlled them with minimal deaths in the local population.”

“We did control it this time, Baalgraf, but what about next time, what if the tears become frequent?” She had a point, the tears would increase in frequency, it was just a matter of when.

“Then we protect this planet and stop the tears before they begin elsewhere in this realm. If we can’t protect this world, then we will have to cleanse it after the invasion.”

“So we crush little dead mans?” Björn wielded his mace as if prepared to attack the next thing to move, including us.

 

“Essentially, yes, but not now Björn.” I must admit, I was more than just slightly relieved upon him lowering his weapon. “We are now this world’s best hope, we cannot let them down.”

“So protect, cleanse, repeat? I’m in.” It was a small victory to hear that Quintevin was on my side, but it certainly convinced the rest to join in.

Once a plan was formed, we dispersed to our rooms to at least have some rest before the next day. I searched for sleep for hours, but it eluded my grasp. I tossed and turned, my mind flooded with thoughts of this world as well as of Asgard. Once I was finally able to sleep, I found my dreams as haunted as my conscious thoughts. The night passed slowly and painfully, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.

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I awoke to the sounds of explosions and screaming, not a good sign. I ran to suit up and wake the others. Once we were prepared for battle, we left the building only to be met with thousands of revenants and their draugr superiors. “Everyone ready?” the team solemnly nodded at once, and the fight began.

Ivarn prepped her bow with Bolgrim’s explosive arrows and aimed it toward the large horde of zombies. The arrow whistled through the air and found its decaying target; the draugr shrieked in pain with the arrow in its head, but it was soon silenced by the explosion, as were many of its surrounding revenant minions. Ivarn fired barrage after barrage of arrows, thinning the hordes numbers.

Bolgrim, with a freshly refueled Darkfire suit gave the undead a fiery surprise, which was then followed by more explosive surprises. Dropping a cloth into one of his bottles of ale, he lit the end of the cloth and tossed the bottle into a large gathering of revenants. Upon their ignition, Bolgrim let out a squeal of excitement and continued the battle.

As a frost giant, there wasn’t much that the revenants could do to Björn, so he charged into the group, stepping on revenants as he progressed. He swung his club skillfully through the crowd, killing multiple zombies in each swing. He charged through the crowd and leaped through the air, tackling two of the draugr and proceeding to crush their skulls with his mace. Björn stood up and forcefully whipped his mace in the air, allowing the head to release only to be restrained by a thick chain. The flail was swung about to demolish groups at a time.

My fire blasted through the horde, incinerating zombies on impact. I reached toward the sky, calling toward my dear friend, Thor, and lightning bolts stuck from the sky, devastating the horde. I knew what I would have to do; reaching forward, I motioned with both hands, tearing another hole in the realms, and pulled many of the revenants back to their own realm. There were still a seemingly infinite number of undead in the city, and that’s when I saw them dropping.

Quintevin worked his way through the crowd, bringing down every creature around him. He moved with grace and efficiency that could be found nowhere else. As the undead numbers decreased, it seemed we would have no problem ridding the city of this new plague. The ground began to shake, the sky went dark, and a massive

 

tear could be seen high above the streets. A draugr the size of a building dropped down to the streets; all fighting was then concentrated on this new behemoth. Ivarn fired her strongest arrows into its skull, Bolgrim launched explosive projectiles into its gaping mouth, and I rained fire on its decaying flesh. Björn leaped toward its face only to be swept out of the air; I ran to his side to aid him. The draugr pulled back to attack but suddenly stopped. The beast shrieked as Quintevin’s blade sunk into its eye; the draugr plucked Quintevin from its face and tossed him towards its mouth. Quintevin disappeared as the beast devoured him, but as he traveled down the beast’s body, he sliced through the beast’s torso. The draugr fell backwards, taking its last breath.

The rest of us ran to the beast’s body searching through it for our fallen ally. We tore at its flesh, ripping it apart to find our ally. When we finally found him, he had been drenched in acid for too long. After all we had gone through as a team, we pulled him out just in time to watch him die before us. The world had been saved for now, but at great cost to our team.

Quintevin Turvilson was the fastest and deadliest slayer that I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. He may have died fighting as he always had, but Quintevin was, and forever will be, Legendary.

Part Two

I don’t remember where I am. The last thing I can remember is sending my friend off to his fiery grave. This unconsciousness fills me with questions that will not be answered until I can wake up from this nightmare. I can briefly feel my body being lifted; I awaken to a deafening light and the golden sound of cool, chain armor. I try to allow my eyes to adjust to the light, but instead, I slip back into unconsciousness.

I feel nothing. I try to connect my mind to my body, but I cannot even recall how my body looks. Suddenly, I am in a hazy dark room; I look down to see my hands in front of me gripping an ice dagger. To my left there is a door and to my left, a warm hearth. I have to find my way out; I have no time to rest. I leave the hazy room to be greeted by a labyrinth of winding hallways. As I wander the hallways, I fight off hordes of draugr and revenants. I find my way to another door; upon walking through the door way, I walk into a mirror image of the first room.

 

There is but a single, helpless revenant in the middle of the room. I approach the weeping spectacle, and I almost pity it. It lies on the ground weeping for help. As I sink my chilling blade into the revenant’s flesh, the floor disappears below me; I fall into an open chamber, and I am faced by a giant draugr. The draugr clenches its massive fist around me and pulls me towards its face; I fight it, but to no avail. As I am pulled toward its gaping mouth, I think to myself, “This isn’t real, wake up. Wake up!”

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I awake in the familiar blinding light with a bright ringing in my ears. I hear muted voices around me; the faces above me are blurred and I cannot make them out. Finally, I can hear bits of conversation from the blurred figures.

“We found him on Earth; they were banished to Midgard during the draugr invasion.”

“Lucky for Earth that they were there to protect it.”

“But it’s not over yet, the tears continue to form. We have to get someone to Midgard or the entire realm will be overwhelmed.”

I begin to make out the faces, soldiers from Asgard. I look around and see myself in a recovery room in Asgard. “I volunteer to return. Where is my team?”

“Well look who’s awake. Morning, sir. Most of your team woke up already and are waiting for you. Bolgrim’s still asleep, though I feel there is an additional factor to his unconsciousness.”

“Many thanks, soldier. Take me to them.” I rise from my bed and stabilize myself by holding onto the frame. “Now, where are my pants?”

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We planned strategy in the great dining hall of Asgard, Valhalla. Sometime into the meeting, Bolgrim walked in with a splitting head ache, but we were still one member short. Planning to attack an Earth full of the undead would be hard enough with Quintevin, but without him we were hopeless.

“Why don’t you just use more of your fire, Baalgraf?”

“It depletes my energy, Bolgrim. If we could find an energy crystal it might work, but do any of us happen to have one lying around?” This creates a silence broken by Ivarn.

 

“Have any new weapon ideas, Bolgrim?” Ivarn sharpened her arrows while awaiting an answer.

“I have a few inventions I’d be willing to test, but I’d need supplies that I just don’t have. With more equipment, we might stand a fighting chance, but we don’t have that option.”

“Well if you’d all get off your asses, we could check the Asgardian weapon supply that’s available to us.” A dark figure lurks at the end of the gleaming, golden table. “I die for a few hours and everyone goes soft and emotional? I’d expect this from Bolgrim, but really, Baalgraf?”

“Quintevin Turvilson. Not even death can stop you, I see.” I embrace my friend, and he tells us the tale of what happened after his death and how he was reborn a god in Asgard. As a human who died in a glorious battle, he was given another chance at life, but this time, as a god.

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“So what plan have you thrown together this time?” Quintevin inquired as we made our way to Asgard’s arsenal. The halls glistened with a loud shimmer seen nowhere else in the nine realms; it was good to be home, but we had a job to do.

“So far, we have nothing, but once we take a look at these weapons, that may all change.” Finally arriving at the golden double doors of the arsenal, I inhale deeply and pull the doors wide open. Inside is a room as large as the dining hall filled with weapons the likes of which I had never seen before. “Well, soldiers, suit up.”

Never in my life have I seen soldiers as excited as my team was that day; they looked upon the weapons as if they were children surrounded by candy. Ivarn made a mad dash for the bows. She finally decided on a bow crafted from elven wood in Alfheimr with a string woven from strands from Yggdrasil, the world tree at the center of the nine realms. She gathered a large selection of enchanted arrows from the shelves lining the sides of the room, and proceeded to the back of the room to search for light armor.

Björn preferred his mace to the selection of weapons available, but he knew what to search for as his armor. He charged into the back of the chamber swiftly finding the armor that his heart desired. His armor was crafted from a rare mineral only found in Jötunheimr, bathaljör. This mineral was harder than the earthly diamond and strengthened by the cold that constantly emanated from Björn’s body. The spine and arms of the armor were lined with icy spikes able to penetrate all but the strongest armor. The helmet formed to Björn’s face to completely protect him from his foes.

Quintevin kept his current armor and immediately made his way to the weapons. He found a set of sharpened chakrams hung high on the wall. These specially designed chakrams would return to the thrower no matter how they were thrown. In addition to their enchantment, the Asgardians designed them to blast fire from the edges.

 

As for myself, I searched the chamber for energy crystals. On a high shelf, I found a large supply of energy crystals which I pulled down to be stored in a magic rift. I knew that learning to create a rift to store items to be used anytime would come in handy eventually. Being the sorcerer of the group, a staff or scepter would certainly be of aid; on a near shelf, I found a short, golden scepter with an end that extended into a spear, perfect for my needs. As a sorcerer, I plan to avoid close combat with enemies, but for when it is unavoidable, I would need some armor. I searched through the armor sets and found one to my liking: a set of enchanted crystal armor that seemed to strengthen my powers; I equipped this new armor and was ready for battle.

Bolgrim seemed to have been missing in action for the entirety of our raid of the arsenal, but suddenly there was a mechanical whir as the ground shook. Bolgrim emerged from the back of the chamber in a mechanical exoskeleton equipped with Hyperborean cannons and great swords protruding over his hands. The metal suit fully encaged Bolgrim, protecting him from any attackers he may face. Across the suit’s back, two crossbows were hung with automatic loading systems (one of Bolgrim’s originals). Within the suit, Bolgrim had equipped himself with various explosives which he could load into cannons located below the arms.

“Do any of you know where to find Hyperborean fuel cells?” Our jaws dropped as we saw this mechanical behemoth; all doubt of our victory completely left our minds.

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We marched out of the arsenal, everyone stocked with the finest equipment available toward the great hall to meet with our king, Odin. Upon our arrival, we saw Odin sitting upon his great throne; General Tuliarn at his side. The five of us knelt before the king’s throne, bowing before our glorious leader. Odin rose to greet us and re-administer our oath of service after our banishment.

“Great soldiers, former elites of the Asgardian royal guard, noble fighters, I welcome you before the throne and thank you for your service. I do recall that the last time you came before this throne was for your banishment, however, due to your bravery and loyalty to Asgard, I shall, once again, accept you into our glorious kingdom.” Odin stepped down to us and passed by each of us, “Björn, Bolgrim, Ivarn, Quintevin, Baalgraf, each of you are to be admitted to the royal guard… again, to be reinstated with your former ranks. Are you ready to begin?”

In a unified voice we said, “We are.”

“Excellent. Do you, soldiers, hereby swear to fight for Asgard’s safety at all costs, even if it means losing your own life?”

“We do.”

“Do you hereby swear to protect your king at such costs?”

“We do.”

 

“Do you hereby swear that your mission shall not be the destruction of the nine realms, but the protection of Yggdrasil and the nine realms?”

“We do.”

“And do you, proud soldiers, hereby swear that you shall continue your noble lives with justice, pride, chivalry, loya-”

Our king was immediately silenced, confused, we rose from our positions and ran to our king. Odin fell over the steps leading to his throne; Bolgrim leaned forward and caught him with the mechanical suit. He laid Odin down gently; blood slowly flowed from his mouth. I will never forget the glistening in our king’s eye as he drew his final breath. At the top of the stairs, General Tuliarn stands, viciously clutching his dagger.

“You were never going to win; Ragnarok will come and destroy all those in its path.” Tuliarn let out a maniacal laugh loud enough to be heard throughout Asgard. “I knew you couldn’t follow that command, you would never destroy so many innocent lives, so I had to do it myself. You should have heard their screams, their cries for mercy; it was ever so amusing to watch them die. Though, of course, after refusing my order, you had to be banished. Odin wouldn’t agree to it, he would never do anything to his perfect little soldiers, so I was forced to enlist the help of one of your despicable brethren, Baalgraf. Those dark elves would do anything for the right price; I guess that’s why the petty race is under our supreme command. With this dark elf’s magic, I was able to take over Odin’s mind and force the five of you out of Asgard. With all of you gone, no one questioned my communication with the realm of Hel. Not even Odin the Wise knew that I was the one opening the rifts in Midgard. If it weren’t for your absolutely uncanny ability to never die, or in one case, actually return from death! (Goddamn human) I would have no resistance after Odin sent his troops to Midgard. While you might slightly alter my plans, you will not stop me from destroying Asgard! First I will bring the tears to Asgard, then I will watch as the draugr rip your vocal chords from your throat and devour them while you wish for the sweet kiss of death,” Tuliarn reaches a hand out, opening tears across the hall and outside. “But I think, before the rest of you go, you will watch your overly-noble leader perish under my blade. Prepare to die, Baalgraf.” The general raised his arm to attack, but a carefully aimed arrow flew through his wrist, pinning him to the wall and causing him to lose his grip on the knife.

“This is for our king” brandishing my scepter, I pull Tuliarn upwards pulling at the arrow until his hand is torn from his wrist, leaving only a bloody stump. The tears in the hall grow five times the size of the tears in Canada. I levitate him above Odin’s throne while slowly pulling his arms and legs in four directions. An ear-shattering roar can be heard in the distance. I finish pulling his arms and legs apart leaving him vulnerable for attack. The roar is closer. I snap his left arm, and he lets out a scream of pain. The roar comes once again. We all look to the ceiling of the great hall; Quintevin’s face eager for the fate that General Tuliarn shall soon face. Sahloknir crashes through the ceiling, charging toward Tuliarn. Sahloknir flies past the general and, with a blazing inferno, blasts Tuliarn with a fireball. Tuliarn remains suspended in the air screaming in pain as his arms blow away in the breeze; his skin is coated in char and blisters, still sizzling with heat. Sahloknir loops back around to the other end of the great hall to gather speed. The fierce dragon soars through the hall, opens his jaws, and, in an instant, all that remains suspended in the air are General Tuliarn’s charred legs.

I drop the legs to the ground and Sahloknir lands next to Quintevin, who promptly rewards him by scratching his scaly neck. The dragon seems to purr as his master scratches him gently. Quintevin speaks in a

 

foreign tongue, which I expect to be draconic. After the fact, I was told the conversation was similar to: “Good boy, Sahloknir. I missed you; how did the general taste?” I inquired no further about the topics of this conversation.

“So that’s it then? We defeated the source of our problems, and Sahloknir had a nice snack.” Ivarn stores her bow behind her back and sighs in relief.

“Damn, I was hoping to test out this mech. Though, it was satisfying to see that bastard devoured by our friendly, neighborhood dragon.”

“I don’t mean to crush party, but what about holes?” We turned on our heels to figure out what in the nine realms Björn was talking about. That’s when we saw it. Before his death, Tuliarn managed to open the portals, it was only a matter of time before the undead began to pour out of the tears.

I knew what I had to do to stop this, I had to be the leader they deserved, “Form ranks; Ivarn take the high ground; Bolgrim, midrange defense with me; Quintevin, you and Sahloknir take to the air; and, Björn, time to kill.”

“Yes sir.”

The team found their battle positions as the undead began to emerge. Draugr and revenants rained down from the massive portals substantially faster than they had in Canada. As they hit the ground, Björn would beat them away with his club. While arrows rained down from above. The larger undead began flowing in before long, but Quintevin easily sliced through them with his burning chakrams while Sahloknir incinerated them with his deathly breath. The battle seemed to be in our favor, until a new threat appeared. A draugr fell from the tear wielding a twisted staff; after waving his staff a new portal opened above Bolgrim and me. The undead dropped on us from above; Bolgrim extended the great swords from his mech as I extended my scepter into a spear. Bolgrim sliced at the infinite revenant while I stabbed the occasional draugr with my spear. Björn and the aerial team focused on the main horde in the front while Ivarn was split between the two major hordes. With the split attention, it was difficult to notice the witch draugr opening another tear.

Ivarn twisted around to stab a revenant with an arrow while she fired an explosive arrow at the horde approaching from the new tear behind her. Her quick instincts kept her alive, while many others would have been slain in that situation.

“Someone take out the witch!” Ivarn sounded exhausted as she shouted her command.

“We will if we can find it!” Quintevin and Sahloknir scanned the crowd for the demented draugr sorcerer, blasting fireballs all the while. Upon sighting the witch, Quintevin landed Sahloknir on its head, killing it instantly; for a while, the duo fought on the ground, eating draugr and batting them away with the massive claws of a dragon. Quintevin bent backwards as an arrow flew across his chest into a nearby draugr’s face; He gave Ivarn an evil stare, if he didn’t know her as well as he did, he may have killed her for that. Sahloknir took flight

 

again as arrows began raining down at impossible speeds; Bolgrim finally decided to test the automatic crossbows.

While the undead were assaulted from all angles, their numbers began to thin and the rate at which they arrived decreased. Once a tear had been exhausted, it was sealed, never to be opened again. The team finished clearing the great hall and was prepared to head outside to see the damage, but there was a loud thud on the door. The thud was followed by another, followed by another, until the door came crashing in. The giant draugr had returned, only now, there were three of them. The team barely killed one the last time; they were terrified of fighting three at once. There was a loud noise and a bright ray of light as one of the giants collapsed, its head missing. The team was shocked until they saw Bolgrim’s Hyperborean cannon cooling down after use.

“Fire another one!” Quintevin shouted to Bolgrim while still in the air.

“I have to let it cool down first, and then it has to charge up again, it’ll be a while before I’m ready to fire the cannon again” Bolgrim frantically worked in his mech.

The two remaining giants were rapidly approaching the confused group, but Sahloknir was ready; one of the draugr was completely incinerated by a pillar of blazing fire from Sahloknir’s gaping mouth. All that was left was a pile of ashes. While Sahloknir fell back for another attack, Björn pounced at the giant, striking it in the chest. The draugr was about to grab Björn when its movements became slower until it was completely immobile. Björn dropped to the ground as the frozen draugr tried to free itself; the giant was struck in the chest with an arrow from Ivarn’s bow, which promptly exploded, shattering the giant into millions of ice shards.

As the beasts were slain, there was a great splash outside, followed by waves lapping onto the pathway outside of the great hall. The team quickly ran outside to see the cause of this splash and was horrified by what they saw. The giants seemed more like ants compared to this monster; a draugr the size of the castle stood in the lake beside the bridge leading to The Bifrost. The monster stuck fear in the hearts of all of our team, but we swore to defend Asgard till our deaths, and now we would have to.

“FOR ASGARD!” The team charged at the behemoth; Ivarn fired explosive and corrosive arrows, Bolgrim let loose another Hyperborean beam, Sahloknir blasted it with an inferno, but nothing seemed to affect it. The monster moved closer to the castle with its menacing gait. The battle seemed to rage on for ages, but nothing could defeat this draugr; my team was exhausted, and their weapons were wearing down, I had to stop it.

I opened my rift and retrieved my energy crystals from this personal vault. While my team held the creature back, I absorbed the power of all of the crystals. My skin glowed, my eyes turned a loud shade of purple, and light shined out of my mouth as it opened. I focused all of my energy to my hands; a ball of energy grew between my hands. With every passing second, the ball grew larger and more powerful. I lifted the massive orb over my head and launched it at the monster. I held onto my consciousness long enough to see a smoking wound which had formerly been the beast’s torso. As all of the energy faded from my body, I lost all consciousness.

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Maybe death isn’t so bad. I’ve been fighting my entire life, only to die and become nothing. It’s such a relaxing notion, nothing. What I wouldn’t give to be nothing, just for one day. My team will live on, protecting the nine realms, but I, I’d love to just stay here for a while. The battle is over, the war is won, but there will always be war, won’t there? Always another battle, always another target; such is the life of a soldier. We fight for the lives of all that we protect, but we have little regard for our own life, but this nothingness, it’s worth it. Perhaps I am selfish to keep this from everyone, but then again, maybe this isn’t paradise for everyone; maybe everyone can find their paradise in the nine realms. Who says you have to die to be happy, life can be equally as beautiful as death. Maybe life isn’t so bad.

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“Baalgraf! Baalgraf! Wake up!” I awake in the bright room once again. I try to sit up. “Oh no you don’t, you need to save your strength.” My eyes adjust and I see Ivarn, there is no one I would rather see than her, my oldest friend.

“Where is everyone?”

“They’re outside helping rebuild. We did it, families will be safe again. Oh, and the soldiers are back, they’ll want to hear what they missed.”

“I think we can save that for tomorrow. Today is the day of rest.” With that, I closed my eyes and suspended the world of the living; I will return tomorrow, but I need a day away from life, a day when the fate of the nine realms does not remain in my hands, a day to celebrate a job well done. Thor and Asgard will have to wait one more day for General Baalgraf Esbernson.

The End.

Zombeii (A parody of “Pompeii” by Bastille) by Tony Courville Eh-eh-o eh-o (6x) I was left on my own surrounded by zombies Many days fell away with no one to hold But I drove away from the horde And the city that I loved Zombies charge over the hills As they’ve risen from their grave But never close your eyes To be lost and afraid Or changing at all And if you close your eyes Just know that I’ll never Leave your side I know I’m gonna have to be an optimist for you I know I’m gonna have to be an optimist for you We were cold and alone in all of the darkness In your grave as the dust settles around them But I drove away from the horde And the city that I loved Zombies charge over the hills As they’ve risen from their grave But never close your eyes To be lost and afraid Or changing at all And if you close your eyes Just know that I’ll never Leave your side I know I’m gonna have to be an optimist for you I know I’m gonna have to be an optimist for you Eh-eh-o eh-o (4x) Oh, can we start anew In the rubble of our homes Oh, can we start anew In the rubble of our homes But I drove away from the horde And the city that I loved Zombies charge over the hills As they’ve risen from their grave But never close your eyes To be lost and afraid

Or changing at all And if you close your eyes Just know that I’ll never Leave your side I know I’m gonna have to be an optimist for you I know I’m gonna have to be an optimist for you So just don’t close your eyes, and remember I will always be with you Eh-eh-o eh-o (8x)

Do You Want to Kill a Zombie? (A parody of Disney’s “Do You Want to Build a Snowman”) by Tony Courville

Anna:

Elsa?

Do you wanna kill a zombie?

Come on lets go and hunt

We never kill ‘em anymore

Kick down the door

It's like you've gone and died-

We used to kill more zombies

And now we don’t

I wish you would tell me why!-

Do you wanna kill a zombie?

It doesn't have to be a zombie.

Elsa:

Go away, Anna

Anna:

Okay, bye...

Do you wanna kill a zombie?

Or go and steal stuff from the malls

I think a massacre is overdue

I've started talking to

The zombies in the halls-

(Hang in there, Brian!)

It gets a little gruesome

All these creepy moans,

Just watching the zombies walk by-

Anna:

Elsa?

Please, I know you're still there,

People are asking when you turned

They say "have courage", and I'm trying to

I'm still out here for you, just don’t let go

We only had each other

It was just you and me

What am I gonna do?

Do you wanna kill a zombie?

A production of

BRAINS!: The Zombie Horde in Pop Culture

a Mini-Term course at The North Carolina School of

Science and Mathematics

© 2014