A few years back, I was commissioned to write a story for the 'We're Alive' podcast.
Long story short, it didn't pan out.
But I spent a very long time writing it for it to languish in my computer. I spent that time not only writing it for the 'We're Alive' folks, but mostly for my readers.
So what I've decided to do is publish my initial story here, via my blog, as a work of FAN FICTION, a completely unofficial piece about a character from the series. This is completely unofficial and unauthorized, but I think my work and time spent on this project deserve to see the light of day.
I would like to encourage everyone who might enjoy this fan fiction to check out the officials 'We're Alive' website HERE. It is a fantastic and well-developed world created by a group of professional writers and expert voice actors.
In the meantime, here's the completlely unofficial, unauthorized 'We're Alive' fan fiction, originally entitled (WORKING TITLE: BURT)
BY
BOWIE V. IBARRA
From an idea from the creators of the
Copyright 2011 PRODUCERS OF “WE’RE ALIVE” PODCAST, BOWIE V. IBARRA
11. LOCKED, LOADED, AND LOCKED IN
When Burt finally
arrived at the sidewalk just across the street from the store, he sighed in
frustrated disappointment.
Grabbing the fire
extinguisher off the wall, he turned it on the flames. It wasn’t long before the chemical cold of
the extinguisher put out the small fires, reducing them to smoky piles of
rubble.
Burt didn’t know how long he had
rested, but he knew it had to be long enough for that thing to leave.
BANG
“See? I told you someone was inside.”
“Shit! He’s alive…”
8-15-11
FOR THE REST OF THE STORY, CLICK ON THE WE'RE ALIVE WEBSITE, GO TO 'LISTEN', AND CLICK ON 'CHAPTER 3 - THE NEW ARRIVALS' PART 2 OF 3, 4 min., 20 second mark.
BOWIE
VALERIANO IBARRA is an artist living in Texas.
He enjoys zombie movies, combat sports, and action/adventure
movies. His first book, the zombie
horror classic “Down the Road” was picked up by Simon and Schuester in
conjunction with Permuted Press.
Bowie
earned an Associate in Art from Bee County College, a Bachelor of Fine Arts in
Acting and a Masters of Theatre History from Texas State University.
You
can learn more about Bowie, his body of written works, watch exclusive videos,
and network with him at his official website, ZombieBloodFights.com.
FOLLOW THE CHAPTERS HERE!
Check out the 'We're Alive' podcast HERE...
Network with Bowie and find his other titles at his official website, ZBFbooks.com.
For the full scoop on the story, join the official ZBFbooks.com Facebook group HERE.
11. LOCKED, LOADED, AND LOCKED IN
When Burt finally
arrived at the sidewalk just across the street from the store, he sighed in
frustrated disappointment.
It was worse than he
thought.
Black puffs of smoke
were billowing out of one of the windows of ‘Locked and Loaded’.
Fire, he
thought. “Dammit,” he groaned.
Though Burt wanted to
run to the building, he knew he had to take a moment to recover. He had dashed down the sidewalk amid the
chaos of the city for five city blocks.
He had avoided conflicts, mostly adults asking for help. He never changed that thought that they were
completely capable of defending themselves.
It was a cruel call
to deny people help. But this wasn’t
about being courteous anymore. Not like
many people in the US were courteous anymore.
Courtesy goes hand in hand with civilization. Watching the fistfights, desperation, and
bloody violence on his run was proof enough to Burt that civility in the City
of Montebello was temporarily out of service.
The episode at the apartment with the children was proof enough for
Burt.
This world had not
time for civility. It was about
survival.
Burt had a splitting
headache. He was very tired, and was
feeling like his eyes were trying to close.
His vision was blurring. Leaning
against a building, Burt caught his breath.
“C’mon, man,” he said
to himself. “Get moving!”
Burt took off across
the street. As dangerous as it was, he
moved through the slow and go traffic with precision. He was surprised the streets weren’t
completely choked with cars, but imagined this section of the city was still maneuverable
while other parts weren’t.
Jumping over the last
vehicle, he tumbled off the hood and fell to the sidewalk. He groaned in pain, looking up at his store
and all the people in it as the driver of the car he just tumbled over yelled,
“Hey, fuck you, man!”
Anger flooded Burt’s
heart. But the anger was not against the
driver who just insulted him. It was for
the people looting the store. He was no
killer. But he was going to make a
statement that he would do just that if needed.
“Get away from my
store!” he shouted.
The people standing
around his store turned to him and laughed.
Burt stood up and
unslung his M-16. He held it in front of
him. A side of him still wanted to
unload on the people. Plug every single
one of them. Put them away like a
Chicago gangster with a Tommy Gun. These
were the same idiots he despised, the same ones that started this madness. These crazy people who were going so far as
to eat each other. What kind of human
does that?
These people needed
to be stopped, exterminated like vermin to never infest the city with doom like
they did today.
But who was he to
decide who lived and died? He was no
god. He was just a man with a goal.
There was another
method of achieving his goal that was only moments away from being in his
hands. He aimed the machine gun just
over the heads of the looters and opened fire.
The looters scattered like roaches spooked by the sudden illumination of
lights in a room. Burt fired short
bursts, advancing to the store. Hot
shells raced from the rifle onto the pavement, singing the song of a hellborne
wind chime. Some people had pistols of
their own. Maybe even stolen from the
store. They shot at Burt, but were
completely missing their target because they were running and shooting
wild. As he finished every round in the
magazine, he moved to the front door.
The people had scattered to Burt’s superior firepower.
Laying by the door
were two corpses. Both had parts of
their bodies dismembered. Their stomachs
had been torn open. Their entrails lay
in pieces all around the body. Burt
didn’t realize the bodies were there until he reached the door and he stepped
in the pool of blood their bodies had spit out onto the pavement. He coughed in disgust.
Burt ducked his head
just under the plume of smoke and walked into the store. Broken glass from the front door crunched
under his feet. He didn’t know what to
expect, but he knew it was not going to be good.
The smoke shrouded
the store in mystery. Burt could feel
the fire nearby, and immediately moved to where the fire extinguisher had been
installed.
As he cleared the
smoke, he was shocked at what he saw.
The pillaging was exactly as disastrous as he’d imagined.
Near the front door,
Burt could hear yet another gathering of troublemakers. He could see their shadows through the smoke,
and hear their chatting.
“Get the hell out of
my shop, you bastards!” he shouted.
The stout old man
opened fire with precision just over the heads of the looters, quickly making
them scatter like pigeons startled at a downtown park. Two of them opened fire with pistols as they
ran, making Burt dive behind a wooden case that was now lined with broken glass
where pistols used to lie in quiet solitude.
“You just fucked up,
old man,” shouted a voice.
“Just walk away,”
said Burt with an exhausted smile.
Lord Humungous.
“I’ll spare your
life. Just walk away.”
“Fuck you, old man,”
shouted the thug. The crunching of glass
below the adversary’s feet signaled to Burt that the enemy was making a move.
Burt listened closely
to the direction he estimated the sound was coming from. But he could not get a bead on it. He was too tired to concentrate.
I’ll be goddamned,
thought the old man to himself. Just
overwhelm him, thought Burt to himself.
Overwhelm him with firepower.
Reloading the M-16,
Burt stood up and immediately opened fire.
The boy ducked and
jumped out of the way, crying out like a little girl. Burt did not let up. He emptied the M-16 on his own store, making
the kid scramble in fear back to the front door.
When the M-16 ran out
of ammo, he immediately pulled out his pistol and opened fire. The time between weapons gave the kid a
chance to scurry out the door like a scalded dog, running in fear and respect.
“Goddamn right,”
muttered Burt.
But the smoke,
exertion, and hunger was taking its toll.
The room was pillaged. He didn’t
want to look at it anymore. But he had
one more thing to check.
Shuffling in an
exhausted daze to one of his first safes, he realized it wasn’t as safe as he
thought.
“All gone,” he said,
looking inside and sighing. “All gone.”
The safe had been
forced open. It wasn’t a job for
amateurs. Few knew about the safe. The only ones who did, who were also capable
of opening it, were some of his regular customers. From that list, a modest few had the tools
and the talent to pull it off. He was disappointed,
if his theory was correct. He couldn’t
believe they would do that to him. To
the store. To Shirley.
There was one safe,
though, that only he knew about. Shirley
knew about it, too. It was her
safe, after all.
Stumbling, Burt hoped
against hope that it was unharmed, unopened.
Burt breathed a sigh
of relief when he finally arrived and saw it was completely untouched.
“Shirley,” he
whispered. “You’re safe.”
Inside the safe was
‘Shirley’, her favorite gun: a Desert
Eagle.
Dropping the fire extinguisher
to the floor, Burt leaned against the wall in complete exhaustion. He had reached the store. And though he would have to take out an
insurance claim on the entire business, his prized possession in the safe, the
one thing that could never be replaced by insurance money, was safe.
There was no sense
staying in the store now. It was
completely ransacked, vulnerable to anyone and everyone who dared enter. The store could be fixed, repaired. And her gun was still safe.
Burt was
exhausted. Totally spent. Cashed.
He needed food. Water. There might still be both in his office in
the back. He could go get it.
But all he wanted to
do for the moment was rest.
He won. He got what he wanted. Now it was his body’s turn to reward
itself. First, with rest. He leaned against a wall and let it support
his body as he slid down and sat on the floor.
His eyelids fell
across his eyes. No part of his body
wanted to move. Every part of his body
wanted to rest.
Eyes closed, he could
still hear the chaos outside.
Sirens.
Gunshots.
Cries for help.
Cries of terror.
Cries of anguish.
A dog barking.
Car wreck.
More sirens.
Muffled shouts.
Gunfire. Scattered gunfire.
Then, the crunching
of glass. Shuffling feet from the smoky
front room with the muttering of yet another set of opportunists.
“Get out of my
store,” shouted Burt, firing three rounds from his pistol into the air.
The feet shuffled
back out of the store. Shouts of fearful
obscenities faded away as the thieves took off.
Burt hardly opened
his eyes. He couldn’t. It was as if they were weighed down. He was completely exhausted. His head throbbed with pain. He needed the nap, and let the sounds of
pandemonium sing its lullaby to him yet again.
And again, sirens.
Gunshots.
Cries for help.
Cries of terror.
Cries of anguish.
A dog barking.
Car wreck.
More sirens.
Muffled shouts.
Gunfire. Scattered gunfire.
Then, the crunching
of glass again, a slow crunching of glass from the smoky front room. There was no muttering of opportunists, only
the silence of mystery.
“Get out of my
store!” shouted Burt. The feet stopped
moving.
Silence.
There was no running
like before. So Burt fired the last
three rounds into the air again.
Again, silence. Only the sounds of the nightmare city outside
could be heard. Burt’s lullaby.
“I said get out!”
shouted Burt again, trying to force his eyes open. He needed to stand, but his body had shut
down.
Silence again. The crunching stopped, but the sound of a
person fleeing through the glass was, once again, not heard.
There was something
different about the silence. It reminded
him of what a big cat walking through a wilderness, preparing to pounce must be
like. Silent to find the direction of its
prey.
Then, the crunching
of glass started again.
Burt wanted to shout
again. But he stopped himself. Something about the moment reminded him of
playing ‘Marco Polo’ back at the public pool in Sacramento with his cousins. With eyes closed, he would shout, ‘Marco’, to
which his cousins and friends would reply, ‘Polo’. He would try to swim to their voices.
Today, the pool was
‘Locked and Loaded’. The water was the
smoke. His cousins were strangers in his
store.
This was suddenly no
game. He was being hunted.
Burt no longer had
ammo. He assumed he wouldn’t need so
much for the run. He also took for
granted he could get some here at the store.
But it was not to be.
“Dammit,” he
whispered. He had no energy to
fight. He needed to hide.
Then, from the front
room, a pair of legs came into view.
It’s upper body was shrouded in smoke, walking in the haze as if
unaffected.
“What the hell?”
whispered Burt.
Then, the figure
emerged from the smoke. Its face was
pale. Its skin, clammy. Its mouth and hands were stained in blood. It wore a white lab coat, and must have been
from the nearby scientific facility.
“The cannibals,”
whispered Burt. “Shit.”
Burt had to
move. He was in no shape to fight.
A bathroom was just a
few feet away to his right. Burt stood
up slowly, leaning against the wall for support as he moved to the room. He did not look back as he heard the person
vocalize a peculiar but frightening groan.
“Shit,” Burt
muttered, stumbling towards the door. He
moved against it, hoping it was open. It
was not.
It gave the ghoul
enough time to reach him.
“No!” shouted Burt,
shoving the bloody figure away from him.
The shove gave Burt just enough time to open the door and fall in the
restroom.
Dazed, Burt looked
up. The cannibal was picking itself off
the ground, ready to pounce.
Burt lunged with all
his might to the door, slamming it shut in the face of the creature like a door
knock from an insurance salesman. The
beast beat at the door as Burt twisted the lock in the gilded knob. He slid down the door, falling to his ass.
This was as far as he
was going to go. With the thing outside
his door, he was under siege with nothing to fight back with.
“I can wait, you
bastard,” whispered Burt defiantly.
Within several
minutes, the pounding stopped.
Several minutes after
that, Burt fell asleep again. The
monster didn’t get him.
But his diabetes did.
Burt didn’t know how long he had
rested, but he knew it had to be long enough for that thing to leave.
Rubbing his eyes, he had to figure
out his next move. He needed food.
Leaning over, Burt looked under the
bathroom door. The tiles were warm where
he had been seated.
Burt could see nothing. The monster was gone.
“Dumb bastards,” he muttered,
chuckling. “Dumb bastards.”
Burt got to his feet and walked to
the sink. Turning on the faucet, he
scooped several handfuls of water into his mouth. He tried to recover. He was still hungry, still low energy.
But he had to get to the office for
some food.
He unlocked the door.
He opened it.
Burt felt he could just walk out
without fear. But he took his time
anyway.
It was a good thing he took his
time, too, because as he stepped out, two of the cannibals were standing beside
the door, waiting for him to emerge.
“Shit!” he shouted, slamming the
door shut again. He twisted the lock in
the knob again before the two started banging against the door again.
They’re smart, he thought to
himself. “Good God,” he whispered. “Good God almighty. The sonsabitches were waiting for me.”
Burt fell to his ass again.
Unless someone came by soon, he was
trapped.
What a wonderful world, he
thought to himself, chuckling.
After six minutes or so, the
pounding at the door stopped.
After six minutes or so after that,
Burt passed out.
After six minutes or so after that,
Burt had visions of Max, left alone on the highway.
Somewhere in the layers of his
visions, Louie Armstrong was singing.
= = =
= = =
BANG
BANG
BANG
“See? I told you someone was inside.”
“But he’s already dead. What are you doing? Get away from him.”
“Maybe… maybe he’s not…
“Shit! He’s alive…”
8-15-11
SATX
In
the republic of Texas
“Pigs
on the Wing, pt. 2”
ZombieBloodFights.com
FOR THE REST OF THE STORY, CLICK ON THE WE'RE ALIVE WEBSITE, GO TO 'LISTEN', AND CLICK ON 'CHAPTER 3 - THE NEW ARRIVALS' PART 2 OF 3, 4 min., 20 second mark.
BOWIE
VALERIANO IBARRA is an artist living in Texas.
He enjoys zombie movies, combat sports, and action/adventure
movies. His first book, the zombie
horror classic “Down the Road” was picked up by Simon and Schuester in
conjunction with Permuted Press.
Bowie
earned an Associate in Art from Bee County College, a Bachelor of Fine Arts in
Acting and a Masters of Theatre History from Texas State University.
You
can learn more about Bowie, his body of written works, watch exclusive videos,
and network with him at his official website, ZombieBloodFights.com.
FOLLOW THE CHAPTERS HERE!
Check out the 'We're Alive' podcast HERE...
Network with Bowie and find his other titles at his official website, ZBFbooks.com.
For the full scoop on the story, join the official ZBFbooks.com Facebook group HERE.
For the full scoop on the story, join the official ZBFbooks.com Facebook group HERE.
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