Empty graves, p.1
Empty Graves, page 1
Praise for Jonathan Maberry
“If you’re looking for tense excitement and walking dead meat, welcome to the world of one of the masters of the zombie tale. Maberry could give a haint the willies.”
—Joe R. Lansdale is a New York Times bestseller, ten-time Bram Stoker Award winner, Edgar Award winner, World Horror Convention Grand Master Award, and Raymond Chandler Lifetime Achievement Award
“A horror triumph … just razor-sharp stuff. Maberry grabs you by the heart—then smashes you with rabbit punch prose. Each story explodes off the page.”
—New York Times bestselling author Max Brallier
“Never did we who performed in George Romero’s 1968 Night of the Living Dead ever imagine our film would be instrumental in giving birth to a zombie apocalypse that for over 50 years, has flamed a ghoulish fascination with the walking dead. And now, to my mind, there is no one better than author Jonathan Maberry to keep that apocalypse alive and thriving. His short story collection Empty Graves: Tales of the Living Dead is truly one of the most well-written, fascinating collections about our beloved zombies that I have ever read. Yes, I shuddered at the vicious relentlessness of the ghouls, but I also shed tears and laughter at the depth of humanity Jonathan brought to each story. Stephen King, eat your heart out. Jonathan Maberry stands tall beside you as a master of horror.”
—Judith O’Dea (Barbra in the original Night of the Living Dead)
“If Ernest Hemingway wrote about the undead, you would have something approaching these brilliant, surgical excursions into zombie-lit by Jonathan Maberry in his new collection Empty Graves. Action packed, character-driven, disturbing as hell, and excruciatingly humane, these stories stick with you, and will live alongside the best of the genre. Highest recommendation!”
—Jay Bonansinga, New York Times bestselling author of The Walking Dead: Return to Woodbury.
“A big, meaty feast of classic zombie thrills.”
—New York Times bestseller Isaac Marion, author of Warm Bodies
From the New York Times bestselling author of Ink, the Rot and Ruin series,
and the creator of V-Wars.
The undead walk. Vicious, relentless,
and never tiring.
Hungry.
And the dead have their stories.
Bram Stoker Award winner Jonathan Maberry is a master of the zombie tale. Empty Graves: Tales of the Living Dead is emotionally charged and disturbing. These stories range across the genres of horror, science fiction, and biological thriller without ever straying from the fascinating humanity at the core.
Together in a single action-packed collection, these 15 gritty tales of the living dead span Maberry’s career, including an exclusive never-before-published short story.
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Read them now. If you dare.
Empty Graves
Tales of the Living Dead
Jonathan Maberry
Empty Graves: Tales of the Living Dead
Copyright © 2021 Jonathan Maberry Productions LLC
Additional copyright information is available at the end of this book
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
The ebook edition of this book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook edition with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
* * *
EBook ISBN: 978-1-68057-224-7
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-68057-223-0
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-68057-225-4
Casebind ISBN: 978-1-68057-298-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021934635
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Cover design © 2021 by Lynne Hansen, LynneHansenArt.com
Cover artwork images by © 2021 by Lynne Hansen, LynneHansenArt.com
* * *
Kevin J. Anderson, Art Director
Published by
WordFire Press, LLC
PO Box 1840
Monument CO 80132
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Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers
WordFire Press eBook Edition 2021
WordFire Press Trade Paperback Edition 2021
WordFire Press Hardcover Edition 2021
Printed in the USA
* * *
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Contents
Introduction
by Ken Foree
Chokepoint
Fat Girl with a Knife
Lone Gunman
Not this War, Not this World
Calling Death
Gavin Funke’s Monster Movie Marathon
Cadaver Dog
Overdue Books
A Small Taste of the Old Country
Sisters
Jack and Jill
The Wind Through the Fence
Jingo and the Hammerman
The Death Poem of Sensei Ōtoro
Son of the Devil
Pegleg And Paddy Save the World
About the Author
If You Liked …
Other WordFire Press Titles
Dedication
This one is for John ‘Widgett’ Robinson, Maegan Leith Robinson,
Jenna Leith, C.J. Leith, and Emily Leith
You’re all absolutely crazy…and I love you for that!
* * *
And, as always, to Sara Jo!
Introduction
by Ken Foree
If you’ve purchased this book you are probably a fan of horror, sci-fi, thriller, epic fantasy, and mystery.
Jonathan Maberry is a New York Times best-selling author, a five-time Bram Stoker award winner. He is the writer whose books were adapted into the hit Netflix series V-Wars, and a writer and/or editor of many anthologies and short stories. The list of his horror novels seems endless and his contribution to Marvel Comics is legendary, as is his work with Dark Horse and IDW. Jonathan Maberry has shown to be one of the most prolific writers in America, with so many numerous awards and accolades it would be difficult to list in a foreword.
I have known Jonathan for decades. He was first brought to my attention when I was told that he had included me in his book Bad Moon Rising, Book 3 in the Pine Deep Trilogy. We have attended many events together and I found him to be charming and engaging, with a great sense of humor.
For those who don’t know, I’ve had extensive contact with the undead in film. My first encounter was with the cult classic movie, Dawn of the Dead, and I have a career sprinkled with horror films along with my work in other genres.
Empty Graves is a series of short stories about zombies. What Jonathan has done is bring the humanity of the everyday Joe—your neighbor, the waitress in your coffee shop, the homeless, your doctor, lawyer, and priest—and how it would affect us to be in the center of a pandemic. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? You get the feeling that you’re not reading a book, but that you’re standing next to the character, relating to the physical, emotional, and ethical challenges presented in each story.
There are interesting tidbits throughout that any true zombie fan will recognize. There are a few attempts to answer the age-old question of “how” and “why” they exist. When I read the first story I was hooked.
There is simplicity as well as complexity in these stories and neither gets in the way of the other. In “Lone Gunman”—the extraordinary quest to climb, to breathe, to survive the suffocating weight of dozens of bodies under, around, and above Sam Imura—Jonathan shares with the reader the heart-pounding terrifying sensation of claustrophobia. We follow Sam into “Not this War, Not this World,” as he displays his compassion and torment for a child who has become a victim, and also for the victim this child carries. This vision will be the reason for restless nights filled with nightmares for the rest of his life.
“Gavin Funke’s Monster Movie Marathon” is one all true film lovers might prefer as an alternative to their daily lives while navigating through an apocalypse.
“Sisters” is a tear-jerker. You can’t help but feel Lilah and Annie’s love for each other as you are compelled to walk with them, year after year, from one perilous situation to another. It truly tears at the heartstrings.
In “Jingo and the Hammerman,” Moose and Jingo display a life of complete monotony while performing a gruesome task daily, weekly, and monthly. Psychologically ruining their ability for rational thought. Engaged by the constant task of coordinated movements of destroying blindly, they unwittingly crush the person Jingo most adores.
I would imagine many sci-fi fans will find a fun reference in “Pegleg and Paddy Save The World.” They postulate a very different slant on the reason for the great Chicago fire.
These—and the other short stories collected here—are about a pandemic. Once the pandemic starts it becomes almost impossible to contain. As the old adage states, “It’s easy to start men fighting, but hard to stop them.” Disease travels on inanimate objects, flies through the air, a handshake, a cough, and, in some cases, by a scratch or a bite.
Empty Graves is about a disease—a pandemic, similar to the one infecting the world today, except this pandemic is not started by man or by the dereliction of duty. No, this pandemic is all too familiar—it’s a zombie apocalypse and Jonathan Maberry has lent his unique talents to the volumes of information and imagination written on this subject. As I read this book there was a constant threat that reverberated in each story. Jonathan presents a sophisticated but colloquial style throughout. He leads us down the path of each story exactly to the point where one is left with the appropriate conclusion, only to discover there are far more layers. A grand mind-boggling adventure.
I’ve met many horror fans during my career and have been inspired by their enthusiasm, compassion, and sincere dedication to the genre. Jonathan Maberry has provided our fans with scores of exciting, suspenseful, and bone-chilling servings of the macabre. If you are alone and would like a bit of skin-crawling sensation to top off your evening I strongly suggest you devour a story or two from Empty Graves.
—Ken Foree, actor
Star of George R. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead
“Chokepoint” is one of several stories I wrote that parallel the events from a novel, in this case two novels—Dead of Night and Fall of Night. Those books are set approximately fifteen years after my Joe Ledger thrillers and fourteen years before my YA post-apocalyptic novel series, Rot & Ruin. This story, however, was intended to be read as a standalone, without requiring that the reader be familiar with the novels.
Chokepoint
-1-
The lieutenant said to hold it.
So, we’re holding it.
Chokepoint Baker: five miles up a crooked road, fifty miles from the command post, a hundred miles from the war.
They dropped us here three days after what the radio has been calling First Night.
Couple days later, I heard a DJ out of Philly call it Last Night. But the news guys always do that hysterical shit. If it’s going to snow, they start talking about blizzards; two guys shove each other outside a Wal-Mart, and it’s rioting in the streets. Their amps are always dialed up to eleven.
Guess that sort of thing’s infectious because we got rousted and rolled before dawn’s early light.
As we climbed down off the truck, Lieutenant Bell took me aside. We’d known each other for a while and he usually called me Sally or Sal, but not that day. He was all Joe-Army. “Listen up, Corporal,” he told me. “The infection is contained to the west side of this river. There are two other bridges; closest is eight klicks downstream. We’re spread pretty thin, so I can spare one fireteam per bridge. This one’s yours.”
The bridge was rusted steel that had once been painted blue, a lane of blacktop going in each direction. No tollbooth, no nothing. Pennsylvania on one side, New Jersey on the other.
“You think you can do that, Corporal?”
I grinned. “C’mon, Loot, a couple of Cub Scouts could hold that bridge with a slingshot and a wet fart.”
I always cracked him up, drunk or sober, but now he just gave me the look. The officer look.
I straightened. “Yes, sir. We’ll hold it.”
“You are authorized to barricade this bridge. Make sure nothing gets across. Nothing and no one, do you understand?”
For what? Some dickheads rioting on the other side of the state? I wanted to laugh.
But there was something in his eyes. He lowered his voice, so it was just heard by the two of us. Everyone else was handing empty sandbags and equipment boxes down from the truck. “This is serious shit, Sally. I need you to do this.”
I gave a quick right-left look to make sure no one could hear us. “The fuck’s going down, man? You got the bug-eyes going on. This is a bunch of civilians going apeshit, right?”
Bell licked his lips. Real nervous, the way a scared dog does.
“You really don’t know, do you?” he asked. “Haven’t you been watching the news?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the news.”
“They aren’t civilians,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“What does that—?”
A sergeant came hurrying over to tell us that everything was off-loaded. Bell stepped abruptly away from me and back into his officer role. “Are we clear on everything, Corporal Tucci?”
I played my part. “Yes, sir.”
Bell and the sergeant climbed back into the truck and we watched its taillights through a faint smudge of dust. My guys—all three of them—stood with me. We turned and looked at the bridge. It was rush hour on a Friday, but the road was empty. Both sides of the bridge.
“What the hell’s going on?” asked Joe Bob—and, yeah, his actual name on his dog tags is Joe Bob Stanton. He’s a redneck mouth-breather who joined the Reserves because nobody in the civilian world was stupid enough to let him play with guns. So, the geniuses here decided he should be an automatic rifleman. When they handed him an M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, he almost came in his pants.
I shook my head.
“Join the Navy,” said Talia, “See the world.”
“That’s the Navy,” said Farris. “We’re the National damn Guard.”
“That’s my point,” she said.
“C’mon,” I said, “let’s get this shit done.”
It took us four hours to fill enough sandbags to block the western approach to the bridge. Four hours. Didn’t see a single car the whole time.
At first that was okay, made it easier to work.
Later, though, none of us liked how that felt.
-2-
I was the Team Leader for this gig. Corporal Salvatore Tucci. I’m in charge because everyone else on the team was even greener than me. Army Reserves, man. I’m in technical college working on a degree in fixing air conditioners, and I’m the most educated guy on the team. Cutting-edge, 21st century Army my ass.
A lot of the guys who enlist are dickheads like Joe Bob.
The other two? Farris is a slacker with no G.E.D. who mops up at a Taco Bell. They made him a rifleman. And our grenadier, Talia? Her arms and her thighs are a roadmap of healed-over needle scars, but she doesn’t talk about it. I think she maybe got clean and signed up to help her stay clean.
That’s Fireteam Delta. Four fuck-ups who didn’t have the sense to stay out of uniform or enough useful skills to be put somewhere that mattered.
So here we are, holding Checkpoint Baker and waiting for orders.
We opened some M.R.E.s and ate bad spaghetti and some watery stuff that was supposed to be cream of broccoli soup.
“Dude,” said Farris, “there’s a Quiznos like three miles from here. I saw it on the way in.”
“So?”
“One of us could go and get something …”
“Deserting a post in a time of crisis?” murmured Talia dryly. “I think they have a rule about that.”
“It’s not deserting,” said Farris, but he didn’t push it. I think he knew what we all thought. As soon as he was around the bend in the road, he’d fire up a blunt, and that’s all we’d need is to have the lieutenant roll up on Farris stoned and A.W.O.L. On my watch.
I gave him my version of the look.
He grinned like a kid who was caught reaching in the cookie jar.
