Tales of the Urban Dead Part 10 (Finale)

Albert Newman ran, the zombies close behind him. He could still be safe at St. Matheos', it was just two blocks away. Albert stumbled over a body in the streets and yelled as it shuttered and grasped at his ankles. He buried his fire axe in its chest and scrambled away, leaving the trusty axe behind.

Dashing through the alley he and Mayer had come through not long ago, Albert made a beeline for the hospital. He ran up the stairs to the main door but stopped short when he saw it swinging open. Zombies growled inside. Gray clouds swirled overhead, but yellow sunlight still splashed eerily around the city.

Albert sighed and looked to heaven, drawing both of his handguns before glancing around at the horde of zombies closing in around him. He fired at the closest shambling corpse twice, catching it in the arm, then hitting it in the head. More shots echoed through the city as the circle of the dead drew tighter. Albert fired again and again, but for every zombie he put down, another grasped at his back. The horde overcame Albert as the sunlight died over Kempsterbank.

It began to rain; slowly at first, then building to a heavy storm. On the steps of St. Matheos' Hospital, a new corpse began to rise.

Tales of the Urban Dead Part 9

Zombie groans sounded in the streets as Albert Newman bandaged his arm. Mayer Hawthorne was sitting by the radio, jotting something down in the notebook he always carried with him. Albert stood up and peered out of one of the broken windows. The zombies below were shuffling aimlessly about, occasionally stopping to sniff the air.

Garbled voices broke through the white noise of the radio. Albert hurried over as Mayer fiddled with the tuner. *...zed...or more...Julie General Hospital. Please send help. We.......survivors...*

"That's not too far from here," said Mayer, glancing at Albert.

Albert looked at his hands. "Think we should make a run for it?"

"We have more chance with a large group than holed up here. Maybe that's where the Boardsies went-- they mentioned heading south."

Albert grimaced and picked up his axe. "Let's get going then."

Albert's coat billowed in a brief breeze as he and Mayer slipped out of St. Matheos', heading through an alley free of zombies. Two pistols were holstered at Albert's belt, and Mayer held a third, along with poor Jerry's baseball bat.

Julie General Hospital was in sight when a zombie stumbled around a corner and right into Albert. Jumping back, Albert lashed out with his axe while Mayer fired twice, taking the zombie down. "They'll have heard that," gasped Albert, scrambling to his feet.

Three more zombies came up through the alley and another four or five shuffled in from the street Julie General Hospital was on. Albert and Mayer broke into a run, knocking aside the dead with axe and bat. There was a crash to the east and Albert changed course as a new flood of zombies shambled around a second street corner. He couldn't hear Mayer yelling any more, and couldn't see him anywhere either.

Albert shook off a grasping zombie hand and bounded up the steps of Julie General Hospital. Thrusting his fire axe through his belt, Albert drew both pistols and kicked the front door open. In the hospital lobby, dozens of bodies lay on the ground, fresh blood seeping from bite wounds and scratches. A smashed radio transmitter lay in the middle of the room.

The body nearest the door began to rise.

Tales of the Urban Dead Part 8

Catastrophe struck with the dawn. Albert Newman was sorting through spare parts scavenged from a nearby junkyard when Jerry Mothra burst into the hospital, panting. "The Boardsies... they're gone."

Albert stood up as Mayer Hawthorne came down from the second floor, looking worried. "Gone?" said Albert.

"As if they'd never been there. No note or anything."

Mayer looked nervous as Albert began pacing. "Why, though?"

All three men turned as gunfire echoed outside. "The zombies are coming," breathed Mayer. Albert looked around for his axe and realized he had left it upstairs. Taking the steps two at a time, he stopped as the hospital door crashed open behind him.

"Stop right there!" yelled a voice, and Albert turned to see not a zombie, but a man standing in the doorway, gun pointed straight at Albert's chest. The man's clothes were soaked in blood, and what must have once been a formal white shirt was frayed up to the elbows.

"What do you want?" asked Albert carefully. "The zombies are heading this way, you know."

The stranger cocked his head to the side, turning to look at Mayer and Jerry, then back at Albert. "I'm not worried about the zed, fellas. It's you guys that have me in a knot." He laughed and pointed his gun at his own head.

It was with a sinking feeling that Albert noticed only Jerry was carrying a weapon-- the baseball bat he took whenever he went on scouting trips. The stranger seemed to have noticed it too, and grinned at Jerry. "Don't hurt me, kind sir."

"Let's just talk through this, nice and slow," said Mayer, holding up his hands.

"Maybe quick?" said the stranger, still pointing the gun at himself. "I've come on a mission, you see. Malton has too many survivors, fella. Like you." He pointed the gun at Mayer. "Are you a psycho-logist?"

"Now, then-" Mayer was cut short as the stranger turned his gun on Jerry and fired, catching him full in the chest. Both Albert and Mayer yelled, rushing forward, but hesitating as the stranger raised his gun again.

"He didn't deserve to live, fellas," grinned the stranger as he turned the gun back at his own head. "It was self-defense, see?" With that, the stranger spun around and sprinted out the door and into a street that was filling up with zombies.

Mayer made to give chase, but Albert dragged him back, kicking out at a zombie that was nearing the hospital's doors. The stranger was already lost from sight. Mayer cursed as the two men retreated, depositing Jerry's body outside, then barring the doors. Kempsterbank fell in a single day.

Tales of the Urban Dead Part 7

Albert had been living alongside the Boardsies for a few weeks when Mayer Hawthorne and Jerry Mothra took up residence in St. Matheos'. The two had wandered into Kempsterbank fleeing from the zombies just as Albert had. Mayer was a former doctor and, with Albert's help, began to reclaim some of the hospital's ruined medical equipment.

Jerry Mothra had been a sales clerk at an electronics store, and it was glee he returned from a scouting mission one day carrying a transistor radio. "We should be able to charge it from the generator no problem," he said, rubbing the dirt from his new treasure.

"Will there be anything to listen to, though?" asked Mayer, putting down the roll of bandages he had been wrapping.

Albert took the radio from Jerry and turned it over in his hands. "The Boardsies say there's people down at the Whitenoll HQ broadcasting from time to time. Twenty-seven point five five megahertz, if I remember correctly."

"Let's get this going, then," said Jerry.The sun was setting by the time the radio was ready. Jerry grinned as he fiddled with the knobs as static began to crackle. "I got the frequency," reported Jerry. White noise issued from the radio.

"We'll keep checking," said Albert.

Mayer sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "It's all we can do, I suppose." Even the Boardsies were quiet that night. Around two in the morning, a piercing cry echoed from the south. Albert slept on.

Tales of the Urban Dead Part 6

It was the evening of the second day Albert had spent at St. Matheos' and the streets were still quiet. Albert was settling down to read a book on diagnosis methods he had found in one of the wards when the sound of shattering glass echoed through the night air. Albert rolled out of his chair and crouched, keeping low as he crept over to the nearest window, gun in hand.

There was another crash and a muffled yell as Albert peered out into the Kempsterbank night. The lights were on in a building across the street, and the ruckus seemed to be coming from inside. Someone needed help. Albert seized his axe and leapt down the hospital stairs two at a time.

A brief silence had fallen as Albert emerged into the cold night, glancing around as he stole across the street. Another shout came from the lit-up building, and a loud scraping like furniture being dragged across a wooden floor.

Albert steeled himself and kicked the door in, raising one hand against the brightness. Several voices cried out, and Albert stared around at the group of people dispersed around what looked like a hotel restaurant. Tables and chairs were stacked against one wall and several young men and women were grouped in couples in the middle of the floor, ogling Albert. A grizzled old man leaning against the bar broke the silence. "Well, you've come just in time for the dancin'."

A younger man with a sparse blond beard grinned as he lifted his shotgun to point at Albert's chest. "Friendly?"

Albert quickly lowered his axe. "Yes, friendly. What are you doing here?"

The man at the bar had taken a simple wooden flute from his jacket and was polishing it on his sleeve. "The zed have really won if they can keep us from our Saint Paddy's Day celebrations. Pull up a chair."

Albert nodded as he leaned his axe against a wall. The old man started up a merry tune on his flute, and the couples on the floor began a simple dance. Albert turned to the man with the shotgun. "Aren't you worried people will hear?"

"Let them hear, then. We're the Boardsies, and we can take whatever comes."

Tales of the Urban Dead Part 5

The rain was just letting up as Albert Newman crossed into Kempsterbank. The streets were quiet, and a light breeze began blowing as Albert turned a corner to see a tall white building ahead. Over its entrance was a fading sign: 'St. Matheos' Hospital'. Albert smiled to himself. "One saint after another." He strode towards the hospital's double doors with a spring in his step.

Albert was hoping to find medical supplies inside, but even more, a place where he could help people and make Malton a better place. He didn't want to have to lose another survivor. Albert stepped through the hospital's broken doors and rubbed his eyes as he stared around the reception area. All the walls were shades of yellow and sky blue, some decorated with cartoon murals of animals and sunshine. A children's hospital.

Readying his handgun, Albert advanced through the colors, watching for any movements or sounds from the shadows. All was silent, but a trail of blood ran up one of the nearest staircases. Steeling himself, Albert proceeded onwards and upwards.

It was evening by the time Albert had checked both floors and was content that the hospital was secure. He had even found a generator on the second floor, and was able to get the lights on. Albert was ready to make a home for himself.

Tales of the Urban Dead Part 4

Albert Newman paced up and down the dusty sanctuary. Glancing to the shattered rose window and back to the church's main doors, he made up his mind. He had to get out of Shackleville. More zombies had been moving in from the north and west, and the streets were no longer safe, even in the full light of day.

Thunder boomed outside and a light drizzle began to fall. Albert gathered his meager belongings-- the rain would help him slip out of Shackleville unseen, and more importantly, unheard and unsmelled. Securing his handgun in a makeshift holster on his right hip, Albert buckled on the flak jacket he had found near the abandoned police station. His backpack was full of the rations and the makeshift medical supplies that could mean the difference between life and death in Malton.

Striding to the door, Albert picked up the other difference between life and death-- his heavy fire axe. It had been a cold day when Albert spotted the axe in the rubble of the local fire station. Almost four feet of wooden haft and a blunted red blade, it felt like an old friend as Albert hefted it on his shoulder. With one last look around the sanctuary, Albert stepped out into the rain.

Tales of the Urban Dead Part 3

Albert Newman was rummaging through the junkyard once again. Life was lived on the edge of a knife, but people eventually find routine in everything. Shackleville had been calm for a few days, and Albert had been daring enough to take one or two long scouting trips.

Albert picked up a discarded stapler, weighing it in his hand before casting it back on the piles of rubbish. Then came the howl. Shrieks echoed from the direction Albert had come from. Had St. Helier's been overrun? Grabbing his trusty length of pipe, Albert sprinted towards the noise. Just north of the church, a man was being mauled by a zombie. Gritting his teeth, Albert charged forward, pipe sweaty in his hands. As the zombie turned to face the new threat, Albert swung with all his might, clobbering the zombie upside the head and sending it reeling. Knocking the creature down with a blow to the back, Albert scrambled over to the attacked man.

The victim was still alive, though bleeding from cuts on his head and arms. Grabbing the man under the arms, Albert dragged him back, glance darting between the dazed zombie and the doors of St. Helier's. It was a long way to go. Hauling the man behind a ruined bench, Albert grabbed several bandages from his pack, fumbling as he attempted to staunch the man's bleeding.

A loud groan sounded through the square and Albert looked up. The first zombie was getting up, and a second was appearing from a side street. Albert grabbed the man again and pulled, but after dragging him another few feet, he knew he would never make it back to the church in time. Dropping the limp body as the first zombie stumbled forwards, Albert swung his pipe again, knocking the creature back again. With a brief prayer, Albert looked once more upon the dying man and turned to run.

That night, Albert sat alone in the emptiness of St. Heliers, cleaning the congealed blood from his length of pipe. He kept telling himself that he had done all he could, and in the end fell into an uneasy sleep after triple-checking the bars on all the doors. Outside, one new zombie rose to haunt the streets.

Tales of the Urban Dead Part 2

The search for other survivors was fruitless, but Albert Newman began to scout further and further afield for supplies. St. Helier's was situated next to a police station, a sure place to find weapons and survival gear, but the station's entrances had been heavily barricaded.

Albert eventually struck gold in a junkyard to the south. Rummaging through the heaps of trash, he picked up a slim length of pipe-- a crude weapon at best, but effective against zombies. Albert was about to make the journey back to St. Helier's when he spotted a rusty jerry can hidden under a shredded tire. Even better, it was still half-full of fuel.

In the zombie apocalypse, fuel meant life-- electricity, communications, vehicles, and more. Albert Newman returned home in silent triumph, a spark of brightness in grey-walled Shackleville.

Tales of the Urban Dead

Albert Newman sat and thought in the corner of the dusty sanctuary. The days he had been holed up in St. Helier's seemed like weeks, and while the makeshift barricades at every entrance to the church kept the zombies out, Albert's supplies were running out.

The Shackleville suburb was quiet most nights, but Albert was still shaken from his first journey through the empty streets, knowing that death could be lurking around any corner. And so he sat in the sanctuary, staring through the broken rose window at the orange sky. Albert Newman had been somebody once, but after the world ended, it was the best anyone could do to survive.

The last light of day was fading when a streak of red light blazed on the horizon. Albert scrambled to his feet, peering at the fading red. A flare could only mean one thing.