Rise and Walk Read online

  RISE

  &

  WALK

  Gregory Solis

  A Wild Wolf Publication

  Published by Wild Wolf Publishing in 2011

  Copyright © 2011 Gregory Solis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  First print

  All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-907954-04-7

  www.wildwolfpublishing.com

  For Christina,

  You have made me so very happy.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my mother and father and my family for their love and support. Special thanks to my sweet girlfriend Christy for her unending faith in me. This book would not exist if it were not for my friends, Fermin, Johnny O, Joseph, Scotty C, Peter, Jordan, Steve K, Finch, Jana, Gretchen, Zhaddi, Adam, Sanna, my old friend Cassie, my dear pal Tracy, and the Thrillseekers.

  I have to also send out special thanks to those people whom have been a wealth of advice and encouragement over the years … Michael Trigilio, Mark Lamb, Bob Kaputof, and Nancy Malone.

  Thanks to George A. Romero and company for all the fun nightmares. My gratitude goes to those brave writers who have kept the scene alive, David Moody, Len Barnhart, J.L. Bourne, Brian Keene, Bryan Smith, Remy Porter, and of course, S.D. Perry. Thanks to S.K. for On Writing and all the dark chests of wonders.

  I have been blessed with the support and counsel of many others in the horror field. Special thanks go to author Simon Wood for his friendship and helpful advice, everyone over at the Permuted Press Forum, and Director Sean Cain for dragging me around Hollywood. I also have to thank many horror websites for their kind support; too many to list here but stand outs include, HorrorYearbook.com, Fatally-yours.com, Fearzone.com, Flamesrising.com, and the subtly named Icansmellyourbrains.com. Thank you all.

  My humble thanks to the crew at Wild Wolf for their faith in this project.

  And a special heartfelt thanks to all the Zombie fans out there.

  Gregory Solis

  January 19, 2011

  Foreword

  SO what made me fall in love with zombies? Not actual zombies you understand – that would be foul and disgusting, and my wife wouldn’t approve. What I mean is the zombie genre, the great films and novels that teem with characters at the end of civilisation and shambling dead people with a bit of an overactive appetite.

  I have a memory from when I was maybe nine years old. We lived in a big, old Victorian house in a small, English seaside village. The next door neighbour’s son was older than me, maybe three or four years … if truth be told, I don’t even remember his name. Let’s call him Chip.

  One day, quite out of the blue, Chip saw me playing in my back garden. Knowing me, I was probably hard at work experimenting on the woodlice population or something. Anyway, Chip invited me over to watch a video. I was blown away – this had not happened before. I mean I didn’t even own a video player, and VHS was the stuff a nine year old’s dreams are made of.

  Cutting to the chase, the film Chip fired up was, I believe, full-blown nasty, Zombie Flesh Eaters. On reflection now, it’s probably not even a good movie. But something caught deep down into my subconscious, something in the images. Dead people getting up, and tearing chunks out of people, the world tipping out of control. This was heady stuff for a nine year old I guess. Scary too.

  Anyway, Chip must have made some friends his own age, because he never invited me back over. Later I got my own VHS player and by my mid-teens had drained the local video shop of every horror film they ever stocked, including Romero’s and quite a few other zombie flicks besides.

  After that there’s a gap, zombies for me faded away. I think a good ten years must have gone by without one good zombie crossing my path. Then all of a sudden there was 28 Days Later and it all came flooding back. I found as well as films, there was a whole raft of zombie novels out there waiting to be discovered. I learned there was more to horror fiction than Stephen King and James Herbert. Who would have figured?

  I used Amazon and hunted out these gems, my favourite of which was Greg Solis’ Rise and Walk. I loved the set up, the woods, the paintball game and just the sheer rush of excitement running through his writing. It amazed me that this brilliant novel was originally self-published. I’d never even heard of that in my sheltered, English existence.

  The book also did something for me, something I’ll be eternally grateful for. Rise and Walk got me thinking that perhaps I could do this writing stuff myself, and that maybe I knew just enough about zombies to fashion my own little tale. A way down the road I had Dead Beat in my hands and a big smile on my face. I’d also made contact with Greg and we got to chatting – I suddenly had a brainwave and suggested my publisher, Wild Wolf, might be interested in re-publishing Rise and Walk in Europe. To my amazement Greg loved the idea, and agreed to pay me half his royalties (only joking Greg!).

  So here we are. His fantastic zombie novel has been re-edited for this European release. Rise and Walk was an absolute cult classic over in the States. Trust me, it really does deserve to be discovered over here. Zombie fans, you need to get this one.

  Remy Porter

  ONE

  Many people are afraid of the dark, but Gary Jones had good cause. In all his nineteen years he had never before experienced such terror. He fled almost blind, through the mountain forest, groping to avoid the trees. The only illumination provided by the moonless night was a faint glow of starlight fighting through the thick clouds. His leg throbbed from a bad step that he had taken while evading his pursuers. Clutched in his right hand was an aluminum sample canister, much like a small thermos. Gary held the container close to his body as he ran. He knew he must get the contents of the canister back to civilization. First, he would have to avoid his classmates, who were trying to eat him.

  Gary wondered how he would recount the details of his ordeal to the authorities. The police might think him a lunatic and who could blame them. No sane person would believe the horrific events that he had just witnessed. As he propelled his tired body forward, he tried to keep the facts fresh in his mind to reassure himself that he wasn’t going mad.

  His summer term geology course at the Junior College had camped out for a night in the mountains to examine some exposed rock formations. As the students prepared to leave, they spoke of an excursion to the pizza parlor in town. Everyone was jovial with the thought of returning home.

  The evening peace was shattered when a meteor burst through the heavy clouds with a supersonic blast. Professor Galloway, a man very excited by the prospect of scientific discovery, sent the students to search in teams.

  The students located the meteorite two kilometers away in pristine condition. The Geiger counter measured no discernible radiation making it safe for recovery. The coconut-sized traveler was so hot from its trip through the atmosphere that its heat deformed the shovel used to carry it back to camp. Carefully obtained scrapings were tested chemically and revealed it to be composed of olivine, a form of iron. The Professor decided to stay in the field until the meteorite cooled enough to be safely transported back to the campus.

  Gary’s classmates didn’t share the Professor’s interest in interstellar discoveries. They were hungry and wanted to go home. The Professor told the students that discoveries of this nature were historic because the meteorite was most likely older than the earth. A find of this nature superseded their dinner plans. The Professor’s d
ecision didn’t make him a popular man. A group of impatient athletes who often taunted Gary decided to accelerate the meteorite’s cooling by dousing it with cold water. The temperature differential caused the meteorite to shatter and throw a steamy dark green mist over four of their class. The spray caused chemical burns, seizure and within minutes, death.

  The Professor ordered camp struck while examining the fallen students. He asked Gary to place the surviving bits of meteorite in a biohazard container. Recovering the broken meteorite was tense work but Gary was a talented student and knew the safety protocols. Mindy, a freshmen cheerleader who wore her uniform with pride, though too often, cautioned Gary not to touch the meteorite. He was surprised at her warning. Those were the first words Mindy had ever spoken to him. He had admired her body from afar all summer, yet never caught her eye with his excellence in academia. She was in a panic trying to use her cell phone with no results. Gary remembered suggesting that she go start the bus. That was just before the screams rang out.

  Clark Evens, the local baseball sensation with the eighties haircut, was the first to awaken. The Professor was checking for a pulse, when Clark raised his head and bit the kindly scholar on his wrist. Gary remembered Professor Galloway holding his bloody arm as the blistered and burned athlete attacked once more.

  He recalled his deceased classmates rising to their unsteady feet and attacking the other students. Amongst the screams, blood and confusion, Gary backed away into the darkness of the trees to watch the Professor die. He wanted to escape, but the forest was too dark. After waiting a few desperate moments, he crept in fear towards the vehicle. When Gary reached the school bus he recoiled in horror at what he saw. In the drivers seat the Professor was taking large bites from the body of the once beautiful Mindy. Blood ejected out of her artery as the Professor tore at her soft neck. When Gary tried to pull the Professor off the young girl, he snapped back with blood stained teeth. The Professor growled like a wild animal as he returned to claw at Mindy’s helpless body. Gary left her to be devoured, too terrified to be of any assistance. He would never forget her cries for mercy.

  The guilt of leaving her would be unbearable, yet he knew that whatever was in the container was responsible for infecting the others. He tried to press himself on with the thought that he must find a way to bring the sample back to a lab for proper analysis. He hid for a few heart-pounding minutes in the cover of the trees until he no longer heard screams. He saw his dead classmates in the distant light of the fire stand and wobble around like some evil newborn animals; unsure of their footing. How could any of this happen? He thought that the answer must lie within the fragments that he was carrying. His risen classmates began to walk, some in his direction. He sprinted into the forest, no longer afraid of the dark.

  Gary was so very tired. He had been running with no point of reference to guide his course. Thoughts of resting echoed in his frightened mind but he didn’t dare. All he had now was running, yet injured, he wasn’t moving very fast. He had to stop, if just for a moment. Perhaps climb a tree and hide. But what if they find me and I become trapped in the middle of nowhere. What if they climb up after me? He resolved that climbing a tree wasn’t a good idea. With all of his exertion, Gary couldn’t hear if anyone was behind him. He had to stop soon and catch his breath. In a moment, he thought, just a little farther.

  No longer able to endure the pain in his left shin, he felt his way behind a large tree and stopped in silence. A nightmarish moment passed as Gary strained to listen for his classmates. All he could hear was the wild pounding of his heart thumping in his head. He tried to breathe as quietly as possible but his lungs were famished. As his body calmed, he noticed the faint sounds of a stream in the distance. There were streams all over the mountain that led to Lake Sierra. Water would be nice, he thought as he took note of his thirst. If he could swim, the water should carry him down the mountain to someone who would help. Swimming would be easier on my leg, he thought. He noticed a small flicker of light in the far distance. It looked dim but he thought it might be a campfire. Gary started towards the light while trying to edge closer to the sound of the stream.

  He walked with determination to keep his aching body moving when mind-shattering fear sprang upon him. Gary heard a deep, dry, raspy-throated exhalation of air from his right. Someone or something was next to him. Cold sweat beaded on his brow as Gary felt his stomach tense into rigid knots. He smelled uncooked meat and perfume as something tackled his right side. Gary’s left leg buckled under the attack. Disoriented in the darkness, the hard ground hit him sooner than he expected. Long fingernails scratched at his face. He felt the terrible sting of teeth in his shoulder. Through fabric, skin, and the meat of Gary’s arm, he felt his attacker bite down so hard that one of the monster’s teeth broke on his bone. Horrid growls and the gnashing of braces snapped in the air. Gary grabbed at his attacker and felt that it was a she, wearing a skirt. He cast her off with what was left of his strength and realized that his assailant was Mindy, the cheerleader. He got to his feet and sprinted towards the sound of the stream. He felt his shoulder, bloody and bitten. Through the intense pain, Gary discovered an overwhelming desire to live. He was bleeding but not gushing out blood; his arteries must be okay. If he could get to the water he could have a chance. He heard rustling noises in the darkness. There are more of them! Gary realized that the light he saw, the campfire, was actually his camp. He had unknowingly run in a large circle. His disappointment turned to anger. Directly in his path were two of his former classmates. He was determined to go right through them and get to the stream.

  The world had to know what was in the meteorite and find a way to prevent this from happening to anyone else. Gary felt hands grasping for him as he made his way past a deep groan. In the darkness, he dodged another hellish wail. Gary felt the earth come out from underneath his feet as he plummeted into a rushing stream. Ice-cold water enveloped him for a frozen moment until he broke the surface gulping for air. He picked up speed in the frigid drift as the current pulled him along. He held on tight to the canister with his right hand while using his left to swim. His right arm was useless for rotation due to his bite wound but he could still hold on to the sample. He grew very tired and began to forget about the pain. The biting chill made him sleepy yet he had to stay awake. He had to find someone and explain what he had witnessed. He struggled to maintain consciousness as the water drove him faster downstream. He thought of his parents and family. He thought of Mindy with the great ass and how he didn’t want to die a virgin. The frigid mountain stream was starting to bite at his body as he grew numb with hypothermia. The pain in his shoulder drummed to the beat of his failing heart. Slower and slower, but he had to stay alive. He faded in his efforts; his consciousness dissolving in and out as the current pulled him forward.

  The stream opened up into a large body of water. His pace slowed and Gary could see the waning glow of campfires some distance down the shore. He struggled with stiffening limbs to find his way to the lake’s edge. With great effort he made it to land. His legs would no longer respond properly to his commands. He made slow progress as he crawled up the muddy bank. Resting a moment, he drew his limp left hand to his wounded shoulder to find it slimy with blood. He applied pressure and felt spikes of pain surge through his body. He lay in the mud staring up into the sky. A shooting star caught his eye as it crossed the cloud-filled heavens. Gary’s vision faded out with his consciousness. He dreamed that he was safe at home in his bed.

  What he thought was moments later, must have been longer because when he opened his eyes again the sky was starting to show hints of the impending dawn. Gary tried to move but his body wouldn’t listen. The canister slipped from his weakened hand and rolled down the bank into the water. Its heavy composition drove it deep beneath the waves. I’ll pick that up later, just a little more rest, he thought.

  Gary’s breathing grew more and more difficult. There was a dry thirst in his throat. Every breath was a labor. The distance be
tween inhale and exhale grew longer as his lungs succumbed to the inevitable. His body began to buzz as if it were stung by a thousand bees. His vision blurred. The view of morning sky above smeared into a grey mass no longer recognizable. The image his eyes sent to his brain suddenly faded as if someone had unplugged a television. He knew he was dying. He was too overcome by exhaustion to cry out. All he could hear was his struggle for air that seemed to be traveling away from him, echoing at a greater and greater distance; losing volume with each tragic gasp. Gary thought that he was getting hungry. His mouth watered with starvation. Finally, Gary Jones stopped thinking; stopped breathing and his final comment on the world was a single tear that ran down his face from his open expressionless eyes.

  Until, he got back up.

  TWO

  Jack Mason stood six feet tall, lean muscled and tough. His dark hair fell over his brown eyes making him appear dangerous when he narrowed his gaze. This early morning in front of his tent at the Sierra Valley campground, Jack was trying to teach his best friend a thing or two about sword fighting. His friend of over fifteen years was a stocky thirty-year-old man named Tony Sanchez. The two men looked a little like brothers though no one could ever tell which one was older. Jack attributed their youthful appearance to their shared half-Latin, half-Caucasian lineage. Growing up together, the two often trained in many forms of martial arts as teens. Jack took to the sword at an early age. His studies of combat were buttressed by a simple natural talent. He took sword fighting seriously and wanted his street brother to do the same.