Undead by John Russo Page A

AGGRESSIVE…IRRATIONAL IN THEIR VIOLENCE. CIVIL DEFENSE EFFORTS ARE UNDERWAY, AND INVESTIGATIONS AS TO THE ORIGIN AND PURPOSE OF THE AGGRESSORS ARE BEING CONDUCTED. ALL CITIZENS ARE URGED TO TAKE UTMOST PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES TO DEFEND AGAINST THE…INSIDIOUS…ALIEN…FORCE. THEY ARE WEAK IN PHYSICAL STRENGTH, AND ARE EASILY DISTINGUISHABLE FROM HUMANS BY THEIR DEFORMED APPEARANCE. THEY ARE USUALLY UNARMED BUT APPEAR CAPABLE OF HANDLING WEAPONS. THEY HAVE APPEARED, NOT LIKE AN ORGANIZED ARMY. NOT WITH ANY APPARENT REASON OR PLAN…INDEED, THEY SEEMED TO BE DRIVEN BY THE URGES OF ENTRANCED…OR…OR OBSESSED MINDS. THEY APPEAR TO BE TOTALLY UNTHINKING. THEY CAN…I REPEAT: THEY CAN BE STOPPED BY IMMOBILIZATION; THAT IS, BY BLINDING OR DISMEMBERING. THEY ARE, ON THE AVERAGE, WEAKER IN STRENGTH THAN AN ADULT HUMAN, BUT THEIR STRENGTH IS IN NUMBERS, IN SURPRISE, AND IN THE FACT THAT THEY ARE BEYOND OUR NORMAL REALM OF UNDERSTANDING. THEY APPEAR TO BE IRRATIONAL, NON-COMMUNICATIVE BEINGS…AND THEY ARE DEFINITELY TO BE CONSIDERED OUR ENEMIES IN WHAT WE MUST CALL A STATE OF…NATIONAL EMERGENCY. IF ENCOUNTERED, THEY ARE TO BE AVOIDED OR DESTROYED. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU ALLOW YOURSELVES OR YOUR FAMILIES TO BE ALONE OR UNGUARDED WHILE THIS MENACE PREVAILS. THESE BEINGS ARE FLESH-EATERS. THEY ARE EATING THE FLESH OF THE PEOPLE THEY KILL. THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERISTIC OF THEIR ONSLAUGHT IS THEIR DEPRAVED, INSANE QUEST FOR HUMAN FLESH. I REPEAT: THESE ALIEN BEINGS ARE EATING THE FLESH OF THEIR VICTIMS…”
     
    At this Barbara bolted from the couch in wild, screaming hysteria, as though the words of the commentator had finally penetrated her numbed state and forced upon her brain a realization of what exactly had happened to her brother. She could hear the ripping sounds of his flesh and could see the specter of the thing that had killed him, and her screams struggled to obliterate these things as she hurtled across the room and crashed her body against the front door.
    Startled, unslinging his gun, Ben leaped down the stairs. The girl was clawing at the barricades, trying to break out of the house, sobbing in wild desperation. Ben rushed toward her, but she writhed out of his reach, ran across the room—toward the maze of heaped-up furniture in front of the door in the dining area which Ben had found locked.
    Suddenly that door flew open and—from out of the maze of furniture—strong hands grabbed Barbara. She screamed in terror, as Ben leaped and began swinging the butt of his rifle.
    Whoever it was who had gotten hold of Barbara, he let go of the girl and ducked, and the rifle butt missed him and crashed against a piece of furniture. Quickly, Ben brought it up, and almost squeezed the trigger.
    “No! Don’t shoot!” a voice yelled, and Ben narrowly stopped himself from firing.
    “We’re from town—we’re not—” the man said.
    “We’re not some of those things!” a second voice said, and Ben saw another man step out from behind the partially opened door, which he had thought to be locked.
    The man hiding behind the furniture stood up, slowly as though he thought Ben might still shoot him. He was not a full-grown man. He was a boy, maybe sixteen years old, in blue jeans and denim jacket. The man behind him was about forty years old, bald, wearing a white shirt and loosened tie—and carrying a heavy pipe in his hand.
    “We’re not some of those things,” the bald man repeated. “We’re in the same fix you’re in.”
    Barbara had flung herself onto the couch, and was sobbing sporadically. All three men glanced at her, as though she were an object of common concern that would convince each of them of the other’s good intentions. The boy finally went over to her and looked at her sympathetically.
    Ben stared, dumbfounded at the presence of the strangers.
    The radio voice continued with its information about the emergency.
    The bald man backed away from Ben nervously, not taking his eyes off of Ben’s