Midnight Madness New Short Stories

Chapter Two-Zombies in the Cemetery

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Author's note: This is my first Mania of the Zombies short story. I did it backwards. This horror Zombie story is in Louisiana, where the creepy Lab was used by the evil scientists to fund the Undead's movements in the novels...so I hope that Mania fans enjoy the short story...and new readers to my world, as well.

I

The Zombies in the Cemetery weren't biting people once the news broke. We knew, in Louisiana, about the creepy lab that was used during the mania crisis of 2012.

They lied about the project.

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II

It started when the Riser girl bit Mom's neck...That was worse than seeing a Romero movie. Oh, I am 13 years old, and I am forced to see family movies; I am dead to the World, when that happens; I am...

...The Riser grinned at me, as the bitch's blood was all over its rotting mouth. It seemed to poke fun at me, as if it could bait me into a Zombie face/off, ala John Travolta and Nic Cage, circa 1997. Mom forbade me from seeing scary things, that was what was wrong in America in 2014. You could see the Risers coming; you could see the Risers' rotting, bony, dead, hands coming towards you in silly Slo-Mo; you could see the fear on my face as they attempted to feed on others...

...Now, as I know now that Louisiana is one shit scary place, apart from the swamps where the alligators roam...and the tropical bayous of The Deep South...immerse trespassers into the dark, murky, waste...can you see the Risers beat off the other beasts for food.

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III

My name is Bailey.

Yes, it's a boy's name.

Mom and Dad wanted a boy; Mom and Dad got a girl instead.

But I am a tomboy; I am not a girly girl who dressed in skirts, and hangs around the house with Barbie bloody dolls...Because that's the America of the 1950's during the Communist threats; because that's the America of the past...that's not saying much in over six decades; that's not saying much full stop about women's progress in the 21st century...

...And Grandma said to me:

"In the sixties, we protested, dear. You hated America for failing us; you hated America for becoming stagnant in their ideological beliefs about humanity. You make love to some boy who is captain of the Louisiana football team, because you're a cheerleader doing star jumps; you neck in the car with a date at Lovers' Lane, because it's dark and scary; you don't go into the cemetery, dear because of the Zombies".

 "But, Grandma, can they bite people when we visit Uncle Mort's grave?".

Mort, my Grandpa, died in 2001, when 9/11 hit.

The onrush of the heart attack was so sudden that she screamed when he passed away watching the Twin Towers fall; the onrush of death caused Grandma to seclude herself away in her room for a month...and I, as a faithful Granddaughter, took milk and cookies to her because I loved Grandma; I loved her like Mom and Dad because she was family.

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*Author's Note: This section of the short story is dedicated to 9/11 families and victims. With the 13th anniversary of the terrorist attacks coming up, I've added 9/11 into the story because it shows the horror of what Grandpa's death when seeing the Twin Towers coming down. Out of respect to everyone who died, I wanted to honor their memory by writing a dramatic part in the short story, without having the political edge that's in the 'Mania of the Zombies' books*.

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IV

I watched the cemetery.

Lights flared as I wandered about the house.

I held a lamp in my left hand.

The cold breeze came from the bedroom. Mom's bedroom. I walked up the dim hallway. Every time I approached, I knew that something bizarre would happen.

"Mom!".

Nothing.

As I opened the door, Dad's face was in the darkness.

I flicked the light on...

...And saw Mom take a bite out of Dad's neck...

...I screamed, then fled my house...before the Risers came.

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 V

The cemetery was pitch black.

Not Vin Disel like, because I didn't need those cool sunglasses. The Risers bit anyone who was nearby; The Risers bit...and bit.

And I escaped.

Up ahead was a dead guard.

He was dead.

I grabbed his rifle, then was prepared for WWIII...or something like the mania that infected us. I was happy that six bullets were still intact...as I approached the gothic, cemetery gates...where the Zombies dwelled in the gloomy gravestones.

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VI

They were surrounding me...

...I fired six bullets into their heads, to kill their brain stems. Blood spilled down their foreheads. And, as their rotting faces collapsed into their gravestones, I knew that the mania was over...until another crisis erupted in amongst the dead in Louisiana.

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