Zombiemandias (Book 1): In the Lone and Level Sands Read online

  Martha’s excitement won over the anxiety she felt about sneaking out with Charlie while her parents were at a dinner party. “Yeah I am!”

  Martha and Charlie stood near the front. It wasn’t long until the entire place was full of loud, pushy people. Charlie looked down at Martha with a big grin on his face as the announcer came onstage. He opened with a bunch of lip-flapping, and after what seemed like a few decades, he arrived at the point: Introducing the King.

  “We’ve got a stellar show prepared for tonight. Performing the songs you all love: Elvis Presley!”

  The man turned to the left and pointed behind him with one hand while gripping the microphone with the other. Elvis moved to the front of the stage quickly; with every step he took, he oozed confidence and that sex appeal that made all the chicks melt. He scanned the crowd, smiling and waving at his adoring fans. Presley’s Martin D-28 hung loosely over his broad shoulders. He gripped the neck with one hand and rested his fingers lightly on the strings.

  “I wanna thank you all for coming out here tonight!” he said, his deep voice booming over the speaker system. “Let’s see if Seattle can handle this!”

  The music began to flow out of him. He jived around the stage, really getting into the song. Fans cheered and shouted. The place was alive with music and good vibes. People got a bit rowdy, especially when “Blue Suede Shoes” was coming from center stage, followed by “Hound Dog”.

  Twisting, turning, and clapping, Martha was having a blast. She looked up at Elvis, her mouth wide open as she cheered at the top of her lungs. He looked down as he strummed the strings and sang. A grin spread across his lips, and he winked with a simple nod, directly at Martha. The curl of his greased black hair bobbed.

  “He winked at me!” Martha screamed in delight, looking at Charlie.

  “Wicked!” Charlie’s reply was loud and energetic as he looked from the stage to Martha. “This is great, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is!”

  The show was going great, and the last song of the night was underway. Martha never understood how, but a fight broke out near the front, just a few yards from where she and Charlie were winding down. Martha looked over at the disturbance, and shook her head.

  “What the hell?”

  “Assholes,” Charlie said. They looked up at the stage and noticed Elvis had stopped playing and was observing the growing tension. He grabbed the mic, was about to say something, but didn’t. Instead, he shook his head and walked offstage. The fighting was only growing, and the authorities were sent in to handle the situation. Martha and Charlie were getting ready to head out, but when the police got to where the brawl was, most of the people involved (as well as many who weren’t) decided to split. The whole floor erupted into panic.

  “Don’t let go of my hand!” Charlie said, people pushing him from all sides. Martha looked at him briefly, worriedly.

  “I won’t!”

  Unfortunately, it was not easy to keep that promise. Someone bumped Martha hard enough to make her lose her grip, and another person knocked her to the ground. Yet another trampled her, and then another followed, leaving their footprints on Martha’s clothing.

  The next thing Martha remembered was waking up in the hospital, but Charlie had filled in the gaps many times after that night. He had always gone into great detail, and the story never changed, even after years of telling it to Martha, their children, and their granddaughter.

  “Martha!” Charlie screamed. He was sweating, and his eyes were watery. The crowd thinned out around the two of them. Most people ran out of the building. Charlie crouched near Martha and checked her vitals. She was unconscious, but breathing. She was bleeding from a few small cuts, and she had some bruising, but other than what Charlie could see, Martha looked to be doing all right. Someone with half a heart stopped by them; he appeared to be a roadie.

  “Is she okay?” the roadie asked.

  “She’s alive, but we need an ambulance!” Charlie said.

  The man nodded. “I’m on it!” He made his way backstage, shoving someone out of the way and shouting, “Outta my way, someone’s been hurt out there!”

  When the roadie headed back out toward Martha and Charlie, the crowd had thinned considerably. He finally noticed the man he’d shoved earlier was now following him, and was none other than Elvis Presley. The two approached Charlie.

  “Hey,” Elvis said. “I’m so sorry it went down this way. I hope she’s okay.”

  “She’ll be okay, I think, but—” Charlie turned around. He was surprised to see Elvis was talking to him. “Oh my God.”

  “You’ve got quite a catch there, don’t let her go. Take this, I’d wager she’ll appreciate it.” Elvis smiled, and handed an autographed photo to Charlie.

  “H-how can I thank you?” Charlie asked, in shock both from the accident and the gravity of meeting Elvis Presley, in the flesh.

  “Just take care of her.”

  “I will,” Charlie said, looking down at Martha as sirens came into earshot. They grew louder as Elvis walked away, and soon, paramedics rushed in with a stretcher. Charlie followed the ambulance in his car.

  Martha was discovered to have suffered some internal bleeding, but she would heal. The hospital was going to call Martha’s parents, but Charlie felt responsible. Even if it meant Martha’s father slaughtering him when they arrived, he had to tell the truth. Charlie had planned on having her home long before her parents, but with the trip to the hospital, there was no chance of that happening anymore.

  The phone rang. “Hello?” the frenzied, female voice on the other end said “Martha?”

  “Hi, I need to speak to Glenn Andrews. Will you put him on, if he’s there?”

  The sound of shuffling told Charlie that Glenn had ripped the phone from his wife’s hands.

  “Where is my daughter?”

  “I’m not going to mince words with you, Mr. Andrews,” Charlie said.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Charlie. Martha’s with me… at the hospital. She got injured in a riot that went down at the Elvis show tonight. She’s—”

  “What? Oh my God! You stay there! We’re headed right over!” The receiver clicked and Glenn’s side went dead.

  Charlie gulped and hung up. All he could do was wait for Martha’s parents to arrive.

  It wasn’t long before Glenn and Carolyn rushed into the hospital. They were confronted outside Martha’s room by a doctor, who bore a friendly, comforting smile.

  “Is my daughter all right?” Carolyn asked.

  “She’s going to be just fine. She had some internal bleeding, that’s the bad news.”

  “Oh my…” Carolyn pressed a hand against her forehead.

  “What’s the good news?” Glenn asked. His eyes diverted to Charlie. He looked furious.

  “The good news is she’s going to be just fine.”

  Glenn turned to Charlie.

  “You son of a bitch! It’s your fault my daughter is in this!” He moved toward Charlie, looking like he could kill. Charlie’s mouth was dry, and he couldn’t speak, though he didn’t know what to say anyway.

  “Mr. Andrews,” the doctor said.

  “You’re a disgraceful piece of scum. You could have gotten my daughter killed, taking her to that damn concert!”

  “Mr. Andrews!” Glenn turned back, breathing heavily. “I just have to say that this man here is a real gentleman. He was right by Martha’s side the entire time. I don’t know the situation well, but I’d say that Charlie here really cares for Martha.”

  “If he cared so much, why’d he take her out to begin with?” Glenn said. The question sounded like it was for the doctor, but Glenn’s eyes never left Charlie.

  “Mr. Andrews,” the doctor said, “it’s Elvis. Elvis.”

  “I don’t care if it was Kennedy himself!” Glenn said. He rifled a finger toward Charlie. “He put my girl in harm’s way!”

  “I’d never do such a thing,” Charlie said. All eyes turned to him, so he cont
inued. “With all due respect, sir, my intention was the opposite. I wanted Martha to enjoy her life.”

  “She was enjoying it just fine before you came along!”

  “Was she?” Charlie asked. When Glenn had to pause to think of the answer, he immediately knew that Charlie was right.

  “Charlie, do you really care about my daughter as much as she says you do?” Carolyn asked.

  “More than anything in the world… I want to respect your wishes,” Charlie said. “You have every right to want to kill me. Hell, you have every right to press charges, but that won’t change how I feel about Martha.”

  Carolyn smiled. She looked at Glenn.

  “Glenn, he’s really serious.”

  “How old are you, exactly?” Glenn asked.

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  Glenn thought for a long while, and then sighed. “Okay. But if you ever hurt my daughter, you’d best be prepared to receive the pain tenfold.”

  “You don’t need to worry,” Charlie said. Although he was still worried about Martha, he was happier than he’d ever been in his life.

  ****

  “Charlie touched so many people in his life, and he will be missed,” Reverend Patterson said, interrupting Martha’s memories. She looked up at the reverend. In mid-sentence, Reverend Patterson stopped speaking. His face went blank, his eyes stared into space, and he dropped his hands. Family and friends looked up patiently and curiously at the reverend.

  “Reverend?” someone said. Patterson did not respond. Martha stood up.

  “Please, Reverend, finish the sermon!”

  “It’s okay,” Francine said, putting a hand on Martha’s arm. Francine was seventeen years old and sported the hipster look. Her dark brown hair was not even long enough to hit her shoulders.

  “But I want to know what’s going on,” Martha said. The rest of the front row was made up of Emily and Billy, Martha’s daughter Angela Emerson and her husband Phil, and their fifteen-year-old son, Jesse. Beverly Evans was also in the front row with her husband, Tylor.

  After several seconds of nothing more than the reverend standing silent and staring off into space, Tylor stood up and approached him to see if the reverend was all right. Reverend Patterson didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge Tylor, who stood in front of the dazed reverend, calling out to him.

  “Reverend, are you okay?”

  No answer. Tylor waved a hand in front of the reverend’s face, but Patterson’s eyes remained unfocused. Tylor turned around and shrugged. “I don’t know what to do. Maybe he needs medical help.”

  Reverend Patterson leaned forward, grabbed Tylor, and bit into his neck. Tylor cried out and fell, and the Reverend came down with him. He began digging into Tylor’s arm. Everyone was screaming, some children in the crowd were crying. More people began to attack others. Someone called an ambulance, but most of the guests fled.

  Beverly sat still, her eyes wide. Tears started to form. She wanted to rush up there and help her husband, but fear had stricken her like rigor mortis; she was unable to take orders from her racing mind. She began to weep, terrified utterances rising up from her throat as Tylor’s screams entered her ears.

  Phil, Angela, and Jesse gathered around Martha to make sure she was okay. Billy pulled on Patterson’s torso, trying to pry him off of a very bloody Tylor. Beverly’s husband screamed in agony; he had large wounds on his neck, torso, and arm. Billy was able to get the reverend off and throw him down. Reverend Patterson scrambled a little on the grass near Charlie’s casket.

  “Oh my God,” Jesse said, looking away. He nearly gagged, seeing all of Tylor’s blood.

  “What the hell is going on?” Angela asked. Phil put an arm around her to comfort her.

  “I don’t know!” Billy said. “But I don’t think he’s just gonna stay on the ground for long!”

  Billy went for a nearby fold-up chair and picked it up. He closed it and walked back over to Patterson.

  “No, don’t kill him!” Emily said. “I’m sure there’s something they can do for him!”

  “I’m just gonna knock him out!”

  Beverly was on her knees, pulling Tylor close to her, hugging him, his blood and her tears soaking her dress.

  “Tylor! Oh my God, what the hell is happening?” She cried after that, looking down at Tylor, who was having trouble staying conscious.

  “It’s okay, Bev. Don’t cry.” Tylor coughed, blood spilled over his lips. “I love you, and help’s coming, right?”

  “Yes, soon.” Beverly nodded.

  “Then everything will be good. That’s enough.” He smiled. Beverly tried to smile through the tears, but it was hard.

  “Come on. Smile, Bev.” She did, and then hugged him tightly. She froze for a moment when she felt his arms loosen. They fell to the side, and she felt the life leave him. She hugged him tighter and sobbed deeply, as Martha and the others tried to hold together.

  Billy hit Patterson once over the head. It didn’t help much, so he went for another blow. Nothing. Once again, harder, and Patterson collapsed. Blood poured over the freshly cut grass, and Patterson stopped moving.

  “You killed him!” Emily said.

  Billy was panicking. “Wh-what else was I supposed to do? Let him hurt someone else?”

  People farther off screamed, and a few wandered aimlessly, moaning, acting much like the reverend had. When a gunshot rang out, Billy suddenly felt a lot less guilty, though it was little comfort compared to the fear and confusion that quickly set in.

  “What the fuck,” Billy said. “What is this?”

  No one responded, as no one knew.

  Emily noticed her mother standing before the casket, ignoring the nearby lifeless body of the reverend. “Mother, are you all right?” She hugged Martha, who was looking at Charlie in his casket.

  “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Martha said.

  “I know this isn’t going to sound easy, but I think we need to leave.”

  “We have to take him with us.” Emily didn’t know what to say to that. She knew that they couldn’t carry a casket with them, let alone load it into the car. She searched for a way to tell her mother they’d have to leave Charlie behind.

  A man jogged down the grassy hill, avoiding gravestones, carrying his gun carefully. He wore a swamp-green button-up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and it was buttoned up to the collar, the fabric revealing a white shirt underneath. A patch on the breast pocket read “Alan’s Armory”. The shirt was tucked into a worn pair of blue jeans.

  He wanted to help, and settled on Martha’s group, as they were the only ones not fleeing.

  “Are you all—?” the man said. He was cut short upon seeing Martha. She held Charlie’s hand, slowly drew it to her face. She kissed it as tears ran down her cheeks. She reminded him of his own mother. He hid his feelings well; he blinked away the tears, then spoke.

  “My name’s Alan. We aren’t safe here. We need to leave.”

  “I could have told you that,” Billy said.

  Alan walked up to Beverly and looked down at her. “I am very sorry for your loss, ma’am, but we really must go. Look around. We’ve gotten their attention.” He pointed with his gun. Several of the zombies were moving in. They were slow, but they were getting there.

  Angela looked at Martha, and a wave of sadness rushed over her. She decided to close the casket, but Martha still held Charlie’s hand.

  “Please,” she said, “let him go.”

  “No,” Martha replied.

  “I know it’s hard. But think about the rest of us. You know we can’t take him with us.”

  Martha didn’t speak any further about it, but removed her hand from Charlie’s, and Angela closed the casket.

  “What are these things?” Billy asked. Alan had begun walking after beckoning to the group. Slowly, everyone banded together. Martha walked between her two daughters, their respective families on either side, and Beverly walked behind them, looking back as she went. She took one last eyeful
of the horrible sight that was her dead husband.

  “I have no idea what they are,” Alan said. “But I’ve seen what they do. If one of them bites you, it isn’t long before you’re one of them.”

  “Why didn’t my husband turn into one of them, then?” Beverly asked from the back of the crowd. She began walking faster, shedding her blood-soaked jacket. Underneath was a white blouse, mostly untainted by Tylor’s blood. She discarded the jacket and caught up with Alan.

  “Because he died before he could, I suppose,” Alan said. “I guess that’s just how it works.”

  Some of the zombies came closer, and Alan didn’t want to slow down. He shot a couple of them, hitting them right in the head. Blood splattered, and they crumpled to the grass below. Finally, they reached Alan’s car.

  “You parked nearby?” Alan asked. Billy nodded. Alan turned on his car and flipped radio stations, quickly finding one that was broadcasting news. Everyone drew close to listen.

  “—timely and orderly fashion. I repeat: All nearby citizens, please report calmly to Lynnwood Stadium. The stadium is being fortified and shelter is being provided to those affected by the recent events. Please, make your way to Lynnwood Stadium in a timely and orderly fashion. I repeat: All nearby citizens—”

  “Yeah, that place was gonna be great,” Billy said. “Think they’ll ever finish it?”

  “It’ll be great for a whole new purpose, now,” Alan replied.

  “I say we go for it,” Martha said. “I just want to make a stop by my home, first.”

  “We have time for that,” Alan said, smiling at Martha. She and the others began to move toward the cars they came in. Alan called to them.

  “All right. You lead the way, and then we’ll head to Lynnwood. The traffic’ll probably be Hell, so we’ll need to hurry.”

  Martha, Francine, Emily, Billy, and Beverly all climbed into Billy’s SUV. Phil, Angela, and Jesse climbed into their car. When everyone was ready, the three vehicles pulled out of the cemetery parking lot.

  ****