Lord of the Zombies: Apocalypse (Lord of the Zombies Zombilogy Book 1) Read online

  Lord of the Zombies:

  Apocalypse

  By

  Des Parker

  Text Copyright © 2017 Des Parker

  All Rights Reserved

  (This is an updated version of Lord of the Zombies)

  Lord of the Zombies: Apocalypse (Book 1 in the Lord of the Zombies Trilogy)

  Other Books in the Lord of the Zombies Zombilogy

  Book 2 – Lord of the Zombies: Awakening (Available Jan 30 2017)

  Book 3 – Lord of the Zombies 3: Armageddon (Coming Soon)

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Des Parker/Dime Store Pulp

  www.desparker.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2014 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Lord of the Zombies: Apocalypse/ Des Parker. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN: 978-0-9924440-1-3

  Book Cover Design by J. Caleb Design

  Book Description by Bryan Cohen (www.bestpageforward.net)

  This Book contains adult language and concepts and is definitely NOT suitable for children.

  It is also not suitable to anyone offended by bad language, porn stars and psychotic animals.

  A parakeet is called a Budgerigar (Budgie) in the land where they originate. Budgerigar is the English version of the aboriginal word “betcherrygah” meaning – “good to eat.”

  However if you try to eat the budgerigar in this story, he will crawl up your arm, rip it off at the shoulder, beat you to death with it and then devour you the rest of you as an appetizer for the arm…

  One other thing -

  Anatidaephobia is an irrational fear of being watched by a duck

  You’ll understand soon enough…

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Preview - Lord of the Zombies 2 - Awakening

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Prologue

  Apocalypse Rising

  In a distant corner of space, matter and energy collided and made a lot of noise, which nobody could actually hear, because there was no air in space to carry the sound, but to anyone standing nearby, it would have been really fucking loud.

  The explosion was immense, by Earth standards, but nothing more than a tiny wet squib by universal standards; however the energy wave blasting away from it altered the microscopic DNA of any living cells it encountered.

  Even though it is so complex, DNA is surprisingly easily tripped up. The smallest thing can cause the smallest mutation, giving an organism either an evolutionary advantage or three backsides.

  Conversely, the largest disturbance can cause mutations on such a scale that mutation become the norm and everything else an aberration.

  This energy wave had a scale so immense that it overhung both ends of the scale, wrapped around underneath and tied itself together in a lovely big bow of maliciousness.

  Naturally it was heading towards Earth…

  Chapter 1

  Simon

  When trouble is chasing you down the street, trying to turn you into lunch, the most unlikely thing on Earth can sometimes be the one thing that saves your ass.

  Simon didn’t know this on that cold morning. Nor was he expecting to be chased down the street by drooling things with appalling table manners.

  In fact, all he wanted was to stay in bed and dream of beautiful women chasing him down the street, with altogether different intentions. But as he lived alone in a tiny little house at the centre of a tiny little life, there wasn’t much chance of that.

  He awoke with a start and a dull white ceiling stared back at him. He focussed for a moment and whispered a dull white, “Fuck, its morning.”

  He rolled over to avoid the day, but he knew it was still there, waiting at the window, staring at him like some kind of stalker with a Simon fetish.

  He lay back, his eyes shut tight, trying desperately to fool himself into believing it was still dark, but daylight played across his eyelids reminding him that it was up, so every other bastard was going to join it.

  Sounds of the street waltzed through the window and Simon just knew nobody would let him sleep in today.

  There was no avoiding it; his brain was waking up. He wanted to tell it to fuck itself, but the[DP1] mere act of forming the thought swept away the last whispers of sleep.

  The time of day started nagging him. If he didn’t get up right away, he would have to rush his breakfast, rush to the bus, and rush to work, the very last place he wanted to rush to.

  He flopped out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, right next door, the two rooms only inches apart.

  He once reasoned if he could pee around corners, he wouldn’t even have to get out of bed. And since he lived alone, the toilet seat was always up and nobody ever complained.

  This was one of the few advantages of being a single, ordinary man. On this boring, ordinary morning, he wasn’t just physically tired; he was emotionally tired and spiritually drained. His face had seen too much of very little and he had only lived half a life.

  His face was boring and average with mousy hair and sleepy eyes. The body beneath was slightly stooped, worn down by a life of broken dreams.

  He was no one, going nowhere, to no place anyone wanted to go. He put on his mohair cardigan and was proud of it. It was brown with wavy yellow lines and looked atrocious but it was warm and he could wear what he damn well liked because, in the end, no one really noticed.

  The last thing that occurred to him as he dressed and mused sadly over his empty life was that about twenty blocks away, in a nondescript building, was a nondescript woman who had given up on life for similar reasons and was just putting on her favourite mohair beanie.

  Chapter 2

  Caroline

  Caroline awoke with a start. She’d been having a beautiful dream that slipped away so fast she couldn’t catch it.

  This mirrored the way she felt about life.

  What she really wanted seemed to slip out of reach, just as she was about to grab it – only the good bits of course. The crap bits hung around like that awful smell that can never be found, the one that follows you from room to room trying on
all your clothes.

  She lay in bed for a few minutes and drifted as the alarm sounded again. She hit the snooze button for the second time - she wasn’t awake enough to care. As far as she was concerned, the day could wait on her for a change, and if it could score her a coffee and some toast in bed, then so much the better.

  But time was running away from her. It was already halfway down the hall, and would soon be at the door, hailing a cab. Her dreams would have to wait for another day, just like the life she really wanted. She slowly tipped herself out of bed.

  She stood and walked straight to the bathroom scales. She wasn’t alone in weighing herself, before anything else happened in the day, before anything could wipe away the clarity of seeing those few extra kilos that nobody actually noticed except all those magazines with stick insects on the cover.

  Those magazines told her she was perfect, just as she was, but could be just a little more perfect, if she bought all those products they advertised to hide all those tiny imperfections she hadn’t actually noticed until the magazines so helpfully pointed them out.

  She looked down at herself; she wasn’t slim, she wasn’t fat, she was average. She ran her hands through her short blonde hair, it was a little frazzled, but it could survive close examination, and she really didn’t have time today for the whole routine, nor was she in the mood for it anyway.

  Her day was already starting badly. It was a working day, so what did it matter.

  She showered, dressed in something mildly tolerable, and put on her favourite beanie, the mohair one.

  It was cold outside and no fashion guru would ever convince her to part with that one precious gift she bought herself after the fourth break-up, when she found out the man who said he loved her, more than life itself, also loved three other women and a masseuse called Peter.

  In short, she was sick of the day-to-day life, the drudgery, the constant demands on her time, the expectations placed on her by society, the magazines, and every fucking celebrity cow with the perfect life she could never have.

  Deep down she knew those celebrities only had perfect lives because they could hire someone to do all the crap stuff that real women had to do every day, while still trying to look perfect and professional, in a world that saw them as a little more than sex objects, standing up.

  In her heart, Caroline wished she could have a break from the ordinary, find a sex object of her own, a strong and powerful man who would protect her, worship her, and spend his life looking after her while someone else dealt with the crap.

  The trouble with wishes is they sometimes come true, just not always in the way you expect.

  Chapter 3

  Apocalypse

  Simon was on the bus and it was going nowhere. The traffic lurched to a halt for no reason whatsoever.

  In fact, there was a perfectly good reason why peak-hour traffic always came to a dead halt just a second after getting momentum, but no scientists had ever worked it out because they were stuck in traffic and couldn’t get to the lab.

  All everyone else knew was that peak-hour traffic followed an inverse set of rules that made no sense to anyone except those who never actually drove through it.

  By a curious coincidence, these were the very people who designed the roads in the first place and needed be tied down on those roads so they could get up close and personal with the people they constantly fucked with.

  Simon glanced around the bus, trying to avoid eye contact, because everyone hated this, even though everyone did it.

  Aimless thoughts started wandering around his head. Simon never paid them any attention so they just settled in his head, turned on his telly, ate all his chips and sat in a corner space that wasn’t being used.

  Today he was thinking about space, specifically finding enough space on a bus, expressly designed to prevent exactly that. The seats were always too small and always too close with just enough legroom so you could knee yourself in the face if you sneezed.

  Most people try to zone out with a book, music player or phone, whereas others tended to stare at the people around them, just to be annoying or simply because they were assholes.

  An asshole got on the bus. He was about seventeen with a baggy shirt and tatty oversized jeans hanging halfway down his ass.

  The boy sneered at everyone and mouthed ‘fuck you’ as he slouched up the isle and sat beside an old lady who tried very hard to ignore him. They were on the opposite side of the bus, about two seats ahead of Simon and he could hear everything the boy said as the bus pulled back into traffic.

  Young master fuckwit gyrated his crotch, or at least that’s the impression he tried to give. His loose fitting, oversized jeans hid anything he may have had from view, except the crack of his ass, which nobody actually wanted to see.

  He turned his attention to the old woman beside him.

  “Do you wanna piece of this grandma?”

  “Pervert,” she replied and slid across her seat away from him, but he leaned in close and made a licking motion with his tongue.

  “I bet I could clean out your rust.”

  She shuddered visibly and he smiled triumphantly as he turned away from her and swept a malicious glance at the passengers around him.

  “What’re you all looking at?”

  Everyone turned away, bringing another triumphant sneer to his face.

  Simon shifted his gaze to the traffic.

  He really wanted to be a man, to stand up to the little shit; but like everyone else, he was frightened.

  This is why the assholes of the world win so often, but just occasionally, the universe gets wind of this and stitches up the little bastards, exactly the way they deserve.

  A strange sensation shuddered through Simon and he felt his cardigan stiffen momentarily, like that touch of static electricity you get when you rub woollen things together. He ignored the sensation but noticed everyone else shuddered violently and for a good few seconds longer.

  He didn’t say anything, because you never do in those situations, just in case someone takes offence and tries to bite your head off.

  He heard a strange gurgling sound and glanced back at the old woman and the asshole. She was finally giving him a piece of her mind, finally biting his head off.

  Simon glanced back at the traffic and an alarm went off in his head. “Oh fuck,” he whispered and slowly turned his gaze back to the old lady; she was not berating the teenager at all, but actually biting his head off.

  With a satisfying thunk, she ripped the head off the shoulders. A spray of blood fountained up as she looked curiously at the head, upturned it, and started chewing it out from the neck.

  She looked over at Simon with a grin emanating from a face that was no longer human.

  A bit of her cheek fell off and they both watched it drop.

  “Sorry about that, my dear – must mind my manners.” She smiled again as bits of red meat dripped from her mouth.

  “Oh fuck!” Simon screamed and stood bolt upright, just as the bus slammed to a stop, smashing into the car in front of it. Simon fell forward and hit the seat in front of him. The man in front of him fell forward and slammed into the seat ahead. There was a low guttural growl and the man turned slowly to face Simon. Half the man’s face had caved in and three teeth fell out. Simon caught one in his hand and smiled meekly, offering it to him, as the man smiled hungrily back.

  Simon arched up and looked around in panic. Everyone else in the bus turned slowly to face him, although face was probably not the operative word as none of the faces could be recognised anymore.

  Actually, this wasn’t quite true. Simon had seen plenty of zombie movies and knew exactly what he was looking at - hollow, empty eyes, gaunt grey flesh pulled tightly back, exposed eye-sockets and the teeth - not normal teeth, but teeth that were jagged and ugly and, to top it all off, bits were falling off their faces, bits that shouldn’t be falling off.

  He realised he was surrounded, and stuck at the back of a bus, with far too many zomb
ies between him and the door.

  He also realised he was about to become lunch.

  Five zombies lunged at him.

  Chapter 4

  Hunted

  Surprise is a curious thing. The most surprising things often surprise us. We have expectations and surprise upsets those expectations.

  Simon expected to be torn limb from limb, favourite bits of him being shared about like disgusting pre-dinner nibbles. He would watch his life ebb away as a kind of entrée while the odd limb was tossed around, or fought over like the last lolly at the bottom of the packet, and then he too would become a zombie with most of his favourite bits no longer where they should be.

  He was noticeably surprised when the only things being flung about were the zombies themselves.

  The reaction was electric. The moment a zombie touched him, some invisible force catapulted them away from him. Most ended up in a heap, and being zombies, were too stupid to make the connection, and came back for seconds and thirds with exactly the same result each time.

  The man in front of him tried to bite his head off but only succeeded in flying out through a side window of the bus and landing on the road. An out of control car ran over him. Simon watched; wincing in horror, but secretly quite impressed because it looked really cool - like something from a zombie movie.

  The zombie stood up uncertainly, with one arm bent double back, but didn’t seem to register this as a problem until a small truck sideswiped him and took off his head.

  A moment later, the zombie picked up his head, turned it around in his hand to survey the damage, before both body and head fell down and did not move again.

  Simon returned his attention to the bus. Zombies were still flinging themselves at him but only succeeding in breaking themselves on parts of the bus that didn’t break.

  It was embarrassing to watch and very, very messy.

  He climbed over the broken bodies as he made his way towards the door, then stepped over a small spindly man who grabbed his leg and knocked himself unconscious with his own forearm as it rebounded off Simon.