Spooky Stacks: Four Horror Tales Read online

Spooky Stacks:

  Four Horror Tales

  Fast Zombies Suck by Brian Keene

  Pizza Face by Bryan Smith

  A Farewell to Arms by Scott Nicholson

  Cooked by Jonathan Maberry

  Look for the signed book giveaway on our sites for Halloween!

  Brian Keene Website Facebook Twitter

  Jonathan Maberry: Website Facebook Twitter

  Scott Nicholson Website Facebook Twitter

  Bryan Smith Website Facebook Twitter

  Copyright©2013 by Brian Keene, Bryan Smith, Scott Nicholson & Jonathan Maberry

  FAST ZOMBIES SUCK

  By Brian Keene

  Ken was ready for the zombie apocalypse. His friends (what few of them he had) always said, “If the world is ever invaded by zombies, I’m going to Ken’s house.” This wasn’t because Ken was a survivalist. He didn’t spend his time online, debating conspiracy theories and looking at photos of black, unmarked helicopters and wondering when the secret masters of the New World Order/Bilderbergers/Black Lodge/Illuminati would put their endgame into play and conquer the planet through forced vaccinations and wholesale slaughter. Nor was Ken a gun nut. He owned firearms—a Colt .38 handgun and a Remington 30/06 rifle—but he didn’t have secret caches of guns and explosives buried out in the woods, and he didn’t horde them in fear that he would wake up one morning and find that the government had repealed the Second Amendment overnight. Ken didn’t believe that the world would end in 2012 any more than he’d believed in the Y2K craze a decade before. He wasn’t afraid of a comet or asteroid or the moon crashing into the Earth. He wasn’t afraid of a sudden, massive solar flare. He wasn’t afraid of the arrival of Planet Nibiru or that Yellowstone would turn into a giant volcano or any of the other ways people on the internet said the world was going to end.

  He just liked zombies—and it was his passion for zombies, his friends agreed, that made Ken’s the place to be if and when the world ended.

  His apartment walls were adorned with framed original movie posters for Land of the Dead, Zombi, Return of the Living Dead, The Plague of the Zombies, and more. Also on the wall were autographed pictures from some of his favorite zombie-film stars—Dawn of the Dead’s Ken Foree, Day of the Dead’s Gary Klar, and Night of the Living Dead’s Kyra Schon. His shelves overflowed with zombie movies on Blu-Ray, DVD and even old VHS tapes, as well as zombie books, magazines, video games, toys and graphic novels. Ken had a tattoo across his chest, hidden beneath his black ‘Fulci Lives!’ t-shirt. The tattoo said ‘Romero is God’. He was saving money for another tattoo—one across his back that said ‘Fast Zombies Suck’, because that was his mantra.

  Ken was a traditionalist. He hated fast zombies. The undead should shuffle and moan, not run and screech like the corpses in 28 Days Later or the Dawn of the Dead remake. They shouldn’t carry guns and make wisecracks like the dead in those Brian Keene books. Hell, those things weren’t even zombies. Keene’s creations were more like Raimi’s Evil Dead than anything Romero had ever done, and the zombies in 28 Days Later weren’t even really dead. Ken much preferred Romero’s tetralogy or Kirkman’s Walking Dead series. Those guys understood that there was nothing scary about fast zombies.

  Ken didn’t get out much. His social life usually consisted of going to work at the supermarket and then coming home to watch movies or play video games until it was time for bed. He did this seven days a week. Sometimes he ordered a pizza. Occasionally his friends dropped by with a six-pack. Then they’d drink beer, eat pizza and either play video games or watch movies until it was time to go to bed. The routine rarely changed.

  Because he didn’t go outside much, Ken didn’t realize that zombies had invaded his neighborhood until he stepped onto the porch to take out the trash. He froze, garbage bag in hand, gaping at the corpses shambling down the street. There were at least fifty of them—maybe more; an army of shuffling, moaning, mangled dead, so gruesome in the dim moonlight that their wounds seemed more like special effects make up than the real thing. The garbage bag slipped from Ken’s numb fingers and split open on the ground. A few of the creatures glanced in his direction.

  “Zombies!” His voice wavered, partly through fear, but also with an eager, almost uncomfortable feeling of excitement. He stared at the creatures, noticing with no small sense of satisfaction that, in real life, zombies did indeed move slow, not fast.

  Ken ran back inside the apartment, felt around beneath his unmade bed, and pulled out the handgun. His hands shook as he fumbled with the weapon, and he dropped the bullets several times. Finally, he snapped the cylinder shut, filled his pockets with extra ammo, and then ran back onto the porch.

  The zombies were right in front of his house now. They still clustered to the street and sidewalk. None of them had ventured into his yard—yet. Ken decided to make sure things stayed that way. He raised the pistol, aimed for the nearest zombie’s head, took a deep breath, held it, and then opened fire.

  The bullet tore a hole in the corpse’s shoulder. The zombie shuddered, lurched to a stop… and screamed.

  “What the hell?” Ken squeezed the trigger again. The pistol jerked in his grip. This time, the creature toppled over.

  Then, all at once, the zombies began running away. They ran fast. They shouted at one another, sounding remarkably like living people rather than the dead. They cried for help, cried out for God, cried out to take cover, but none of them cried for “Brains!”

  One of them pointed directly at Ken. “He’s got a gun. Somebody call the police!”

  Ken frowned. His ears rang and stomach clenched. He suddenly felt very small and afraid and unsure of himself. Zombies didn’t run. They didn’t cry out for God to help them. And they most certainly didn’t call the police.

  He stepped down off the porch and into the yard. He approached the corpse he’d shot and noticed a piece of paper lying nearby—a flyer of some kind. The zombie’s blood had splattered the paper. Ken stood over the flyer and read what was printed on it.

  ZOMBIE WALK

  This Saturday, 8pm to Midnight

  All proceeds to benefit the local Red Cross chapter

  Come get made up to look like the walking dead and join us as we shamble through town! Make-up artists will be on hand. Food, fun, games and prizes!

  “Oh, shit… oh my fucking shit…”

  He read the flyer again, hoping that the words might change, but they didn’t. The gun felt heavy in his hands. His ears were still ringing. He looked up. The zombies were peering at him from behind parked cars and bushes. Some still fled. Others banged on the doors of his neighbors, pleading to be let inside.

  When he heard the sirens in the distance, Ken ran back into the house and put the gun to his own head. Outside, the shouts increased. The sirens drew closer. He peeked out the window and saw that the crowd was creeping toward his house once more.

  “Head shot,” Ken muttered. “The only way to be sure.”

  When he pulled the trigger, the zombies ran away again.