A Special Kind of Hell Awaits Them

April 17, 2009

“OK boys get down!” The heavily bearded man yelled out as he ran back toward the trench, away from the heavily fortified building and trailing two detonation cords behind him.

Three days ago they had met him while scavenging through the now deserted mall. While they had been looking for food, he had been on a mission to collect very specific items. At first he was reluctant to tell them what he was after, but eventually they coaxed it out of him. He needed bomb making equipment. He already had enough fertilizer to take out a city block, he just needed some detonation cords, some flare guns and a few simple electronics. Dave and Mike agreed to help in exchange for food, it was either that or continue to dodge zombies and eat rats, and they were both sick of rats.

Over the next day they loaded the equipment onto a cart, carefully following his instructions, ever weary of accidentally detonating the device. In the evening they dined on canned beans, made ‘oh so sweet’ compared to the garbage they had eaten over the last three months.

On the third day, as the sun began to wane, they wheeled the cart from his abode and set off for the tall building. As they approached, they could see that was once a large office building had been heavily fortified, inside and out, with the occasional dark shape moving across the barricaded windows.

“Alright boys, there’s a ditch about 300 yards over there” Pointing toward some burnt out cars “You get your heads down, I’m going to set this stuff up and I’ll be with you shortly”.

As the man slid into the trench he grinned and pushed the first firing cord into the detonator “Lets watch the pre-game show boys!” and twisted the detonator. With a roar the thirty flare guns they had assembled, fired, sending a multitude of colors into the night sky.

“What the hell are you doing!” shouted Dave “You’re going to attract every zombie for fifty miles!”

“That’s right boy, and when they get here I’ve got a special present for them”

Mike, wide eyed with fear could see shapes rushing around behind the dark barricaded windows.

“The bomb? You’re going to try and blow them all up?”

“God no boy, I’m going to blow the door off of that building!”

“What? Why? What’s in there?”

In the distance they could hear the moans as a thousand zombies headed toward the now falling flares. The old man smiled, the flare light illuminating a dark glint in his eyes.

“Telemarketers boys, that buildings full of Telemarketers”


Trap Rule #12

April 6, 2009


Zombies act in a predictable manner, making zombie destroying traps simple, for even the most unskilled amateur to assemble.

However a simple rule applies that most fail to follow, including some very experienced trap makers:

“There will always be another”

-Zombies travel in packs
-Multiple zombies entering a trap will quickly clog it
-A clogged trap is a useless trap
-Ensure your trap has a self cleaning mechanism

There are many stories of individuals building effective zombie destroying traps, only to discover that several bodies in, they have no means of disposal and now their deadly pit trap has simply become a squishy bridge to their doom.

Morning Brew

April 1, 2009

zombie coffee

Jack stumbled into the kitchen bleary eyed, grabbed the freshly brewed coffee carafe and poured himself a steaming black cup of wake up juice. He dropped a heaped teaspoon of sugar into the cup and walked out onto the wooden balcony, squinting in the bright morning light.

Steve leaned back from the propped up binoculars and took a long gulp of his own morning brew and said “He’s still going”.

Jack didn’t respond, he continued to look out over the river and the buildings spread out along its embankment.

“I said he’s still going” shouted Steve, tugging at Jacks robe. Jack reached up and pulled an ear plug free, wincing as the sirens wail pierced through his sleep addled brain. “I know, how much longer do you think he can keep it up?” he asked back.

“I’m not sure, but two solid days and nights of cranking the thing must be driving him insane” said Steve as he leaned forward and put his eye to the lens. Down by the river below them, a tall guard tower stood in the middle of an open field. Sitting in the tower a man was desperately cranking an old air raid siren, its long screaming tones echoing out far across the river and beyond. Below him at the base of the tower milled over a hundred zombies, drawn by the sound and now trapping the man in a makeshift prison.

Jack began to put his ear plug back in, paused, frowned and picked up a spare set of binoculars, training them in on the far off guard tower. “Is it slowing down?” he asked as the siren began to audibly slow, whining down from its high pitched peak and down below the normal return tone. Squinting at the distant scene, he could make out the man moving around the top of the tower at a feverish pace as the siren began to wind to a halt.

Grabbing a large object from the middle of the tower, the man bent over it, stood up, and then hurled himself over the railing, arms and legs tightly wrapped around the object. With what Jack imagined was a bone crunching thud, the man hit the ground, crushing a zombie beneath him and disappearing from view as the remaining zombies descended on him.

Steve raised an eyebrow, “Well that was..”

With a flash of light, flame and black smoke the base of the tower, zombies and ground were engulfed in a vicious explosion. From their vantage point Steve and Jack could make out body parts raining down as the tower began to collapse into the smoke. Seconds later the explosions roar rolled over them.

Steve blinked “Unexpected”

Jack nodded his head “Not something you see every day, for sure”