The camper rocked back and forth as the two dozen or so dead who’d encircled it hammered and pushed against its sides trying to get inside.  Muzzles flashes lit the night from its singular window as Paul fired round after round into the things trying to pull themselves up and crawl in to get at him and Burt.  Burt angrily shoved Paul out of the way.  “Stop messin’ around with that little piece of crap pistol!  We got a whole freakin’ arsenal in here and you’re pussy footin’ around with a 9 mm!”  Burt leveled his M-16 at the creatures and let loose on full auto.  Paul struggled to keep his balance as he popped the clip from his pistol and slammed a fresh one home.  “What the hell are those things Burt?” he demanded.

Burt’s rifle clicked empty.  “How the devil am I supposed to know?” he snapped.

“You said this would be easy Burt!” Paul raged.  “You said there would only be two of them.  You didn’t say nothing about them being able to conjure up the dead!”

“You idiot!” Burt screamed as he swung the butt of his M-16 into the snarling face of a dead woman wearing a pink sundress who was halfway inside the camper.  Her nose caved in from the impact and the force of the blow sent her toppling back out the window.  “This ain’t them!  This must be that shit they were talking about on the radio as we drove up here!”

Paul stepped forward raising his pistol, popping off a trio of shots as Burt tossed his M-16 aside and snatched up a shotgun from where it lay in the floor.

In the darkness of the woods, Eddie and Steve watched it all.  “Poor bastards,” Eddie commented.  Steve shot him a glare.  “You’re kidding right?  Those buggers came up here to hunt us.”

“Still nobody should die like that.  It’s not right for the dead to be eating the living.”

Steve shook his head.  “It was their own science and pollution that caused the dead to get up.  Smell of those things.  They stink of man’s crimes against nature.”  Steve saw the look on Eddie’s face.  The younger boy was completely tuning him out, lost in his own holier than thou thoughts.  “I can’t believe it,” Steve said, “You’re going to help them, aren’t you?”

Eddie didn’t bother to answer.  He started running towards the battle and the pack of the dead.  “Nice knowing you bro!” Steve called after him.  Steve sighed and walked on into the deeper part of the woods.  Eddie was old enough to make his own choices however foolish they were.

“Toss me a clip!”  Paul demanded as Burt stood shoving shells into his shotgun.  By luck more than skill, they’d killed over half of the rotting men and women surrounding them.  They’d finally figured out that if you shot the things in the head, they went down and stayed there.  An inhuman growl echoed in the night.

“What is that?” Paul yelled as the camper suddenly stopped rocking.  Burt pushed his last shell into the shotgun’s chamber and raced over to the now empty window.  Outside the camper, a hulking, half wolf-half man monster tore into the remaining dead.  It lifted one of the things off the ground, tearing it in half with ease.

Burt smiled.  “It’s one of them! He’s helping us!”

Paul peeked through the window as Burt lunged for the cases of weapons they’d brought with them.  “Where are the damned rifles?” he complained shuffling through their stockpiles.  Finally, he stood up with a .30-.06 in hand, darting back to the window.  The battle had stopped and the night was quiet again except for the wolf-thing’s heavy breathing as it stood among the now unmoving corpses of the mutilated dead which littered the forest floor.

Burt jerked up the rifle as the monster looked at him with surprise in its yellow eyes.  The rifle cracked and a silver cased bullet caught the monster in its throat.  Its howl of pain sounded like a demented gargle as it collapsed.

“Get the camera! Get the damn camera!” Burt ordered Paul as he ripped the camper’s door open and jumped outside.  “We got the A-hole!”

Paul and Burt filmed the transformation as Eddie’s body reshaped itself from wolf to human.  “Whoo-ee!  Those boys in town will have to believe us that those freaks are werewolves now!”

Paul tried to smile but found he couldn’t.  “What if there’s not a town to go back to Burt?  What if those dead things are everywhere like the radio was saying?”

Burt laughed.  “Don’t you worry none.  We’ll kick their stinking asses too if we have to!”

___
© 2009 Eric S. Brown

For more great Eric S Brown stories, check out. “Unabridged, Unabashed, and Undead:  The Best of Eric S. Brown” from Library of the Living Dead Books. Eric’s other works include Season of Rot from Permuted Press, and Zombies: Inhuman (the second edition) from Black River Publishing, all three set for release in 2009.  His short fiction has been published hundreds of times in markets ranging from Dark Wisdom to Ethereal Tales.  Some of his past books and chapbooks include Cobble, Madmen’s Dreams, The Queen, Dying Days, Zombies: The War Stories, As We All Breakdown, and Viruses and Vamps to name a few.  Eric also writes ongoing comic book columns for Abandoned Towers Magazine and a local entertainment paper called The Guide. Find out more at www.myspace.com/esbrown4

The hunter stopped amid signs of a Cerapachynai tribe. It would not be good to stumble upon them, for they were cannibals who would consider the hunter a meal. It would be best to determine which way they were headed to avoid—. Intense heat ripped through the hunter’s back, interrupting all thought. The hunter collapsed to the ground, twisting and writhing in agony, trying desperately to escape the burning. It was no use. In mere seconds the hunter lay still, a victim of fire from the sky.

♦ ♦ ♦

Throngs of panicked citizens choked the streets desperately seeking news of loved ones. It seemed no one who had left the city that afternoon had returned. Not a single scout, hunter, explorer, or forager. No one.

Unfortunately, it was not unusual to lose one or two or even more on a particularly bad day. Many dangers lurked outside the city walls. Out in the wilderness roamed cannibalistic Cerapachynai, gigantic Dinoponera, poisonous Pogonomymex, and the dreaded Formicinae who would kidnap and force one into slavery, often attacking the city with the aim of carrying off the children. There were also Odontomachus raiders, nomads who robbed and killed those unlucky enough to cross their path. Armies of Humatum and Burchelli would often march across the countryside destroying everything in sight. Then there were wild beasts, some of which would swoop down from the sky and others large enough to crush one underfoot, usually a careless accident, but not always. Of particular dread were the terrible Moloch, giant horned dragons capable of tearing down an entire city with a few sweeps from massive claws. In addition to these living threats, nature added such calamities as earthquakes, flash floods, wild fires and poisonous winds.

But even with all these dangers, most who left the city returned by nightfall. This day there were none.

The Queen’s Council met in an emergency session to discuss possible causes for the situation and determine a course of action.

“Torrential downpours swept the area late in the afternoon.”

A council member shook his head. “Those whose duty it is to venture outside the city to procure foodstuffs are trained to seek sufficient shelter in such circumstances. Even with severe flooding it is unlikely harm befell them.”

“Had the trails been washed out? Could they have all gotten lost?”

One of the elders cleared his throat. “I recall a legend in which an army got confused and wound up going in a circle, each soldier following the one in front and the leader following the one who brought up the rear. They marched on and on in this fashion until they all fell dead from exhaustion.”

“But that had been an army on the march, not hunters and gatherers who operate independently and almost individually.”

“Were the Humatum on the march?”

“Not likely, their columns would have been spotted by scouts who would have returned immediately to the city with the news.”

“What about the Burchelli to the south? They spread out over great distances when they march; one could easily be surrounded before realizing it and be unable to get back to the city.”

“No, not everyone would have been cut off. Those that went north, for instance, wouldn’t have come into contact with any Burchelli soldiers.”

“What about a poisonous wind? Those have been known to kill many.”

The council members fell silent. Poison wind came suddenly, moved quickly, and covered a large area. The city would be safe, having been built to withstand such a disaster, but those outside would have no protection. This was the most likely scenario.

The Queen announced that poisonous wind was believed to have been the cause of the disaster and that scouts would go out at first light to assess the danger and search for the missing.

In the morning search parties set out on all points of the compass to find those who had gone into the wilderness and not returned. They found a body, crumpled in a heap, burned beyond recognition. They found another. And another. And another.

The scouts returned with their horrific tale. One would have thought fire had torn through the area, but nothing else was burned. Just the bodies, as if these individuals had burst into flames.

The oldest of the elders could not explain this phenomenon. Armies of Pogonomymex had employed poison to subdue their enemies, but no one had ever successfully used fire. Fire had proven to be an uncontrollable force. Unfavorable wind could turn the weapon against those who would deploy it. Had some enemy learned to harness its power to inflict these deaths?

The Queen ordered autopsies performed on all the recovered bodies. The examiners reported that with the exception of one who had been crushed, they had indeed burned to death. But they hadn’t spontaneously burst into flames. Each had been hit with some sort of laser, some in the head, most in the body, all from above. Something had brought down fire from the sky.

So this was no natural disaster. There were those who believed something other than nature was responsible for the poisonous wind, but that theory had never been proven. How could anything make the wind blow? But this was different. This was a direct attack upon citizens of the city.

Outraged, the Queen decided to meet the threat with overwhelming force. Every available soldier would march out to find and destroy this enemy be it large or small. Five hundred thousand formed up and made ready to go.

♦ ♦ ♦

Little Timmy had had great fun yesterday afternoon playing with his new magnifying glass. Concentrating the sun’s rays into a pinpoint, he’d delighted in watching the hapless ants upon whom he’d directed this deadly beam. Here he comes now, magnifying glass in hand, skipping merrily toward the anthill.

Somewhere below, three million feet begin moving to meet him.

—
©2009 Steve Doyle

Steve Doyle is an award-winning writer whose poem “The Storm” won a third prize in the anthology In the Desert Sun published by the National Library of Poetry. His poem “Footprints in my Garden”, coupled with photography by Maria Touchette, won third prize at a juried art show put on by the Hudson Area Arts Alliance. Some of Steve’s other poems have appeared in The Wayfarer’s Journal, Residential Aliens and Flashes in the Dark. His poem “A Leprechaun’s Tale” appeared in Strange Worlds of Lunacy: The Galaxy’s Silliest Anthology available at Lyn Perry’s storefront. Visit Steve’s website at doylebooks.com.