You can read the prior chapter here.

Day 25

As Dani passed through the open gate, past the disabled bus, she was confronted with far more ghouls than had been there just minutes ago. She couldn’t be sure there wasn’t another entrance on the distant end of the district campus. The kid’s shots had drawn roving dead toward his presumed position, and Dani began to approach, fireplace poker at the ready.

From what she could tell, the ghouls had begun clustering around the far end of the lot opposite from her, toward a small pair of trailer offices. She couldn’t make out the kid’s position in the area. She had kept herself to a sort of hunched crouch, aiming to make herself less noticeable without sacrificing mobility. She did her best to keep completely silent so as not to alert any of the undead ahead of her. The idea, as far as she had considered any sort of plan at this point, was to get a sense of where exactly the child was. From there, she would alert the ghouls to her position and give him a window to run across the street, where she would meet him afterward. But that all depended on where the child even was, and what his condition was. It wasn’t much of a plan, she would be the first to admit, but she was running on adrenaline and chance.

Dani began to close the gap between her and the stragglers of the pack. By her count, there were twelve of them between herself and the trailers. About eight were immediately surrounding the rightmost trailer from her perspective, clawing and slapping at the siding with discolored, wet hands and broken fingertips. That left four of them that were slowly lumbering toward the rest of the group. They were being drawn, but it wasn’t clear how it all worked.

But what it told her is that the kid was likely in that trailer. That meant he could be safe, but he just as easily might have accidentally let one in, and he was now dead, or even undead. It was a box of suck she was hesitant to open, but if there was a chance she could help him, she had to. These past couple of weeks of fear and sadness, of not being able to do enough for Julie, her neighbor. She had heard the struggle next door and did not intervene. She sat in fear in her apartment as Julie and her boyfriend suffered, died, and returned as inhuman things.

And Dani sat there. Alone. Afraid. Was it possible she could have helped? She didn’t know. She never would, not really. But fuck, she could have tried. 

She could have tried.

Dani kept her even pace and approached the back of the closest ghoul. It had not noticed her, still slowly stumbling toward the trailer. She looked the ghoul over and noticed it had been hobbled. The foot had bent in completely sideways at the ankle, and each step ground down the ankle more and more.  As the ankle raised from the ground, blood and bits of flesh would sluice off in ribbons, attached and tearing off from the asphalt. The foot was less a foot now and more a foot-like hunk of flesh, flopping uselessly every time the ankle hit the asphalt.

She rolled the fireplace poker in her hand, swung her arm outward, and swung in, aiming the hooked end right above the top of the torn ear of the ghoul with the ground-down ankle. The poker connected with an audible crunch as the ghoul lifted off the ground, collapsing onto its side with a thump on the asphalt. The impact point, covered in closely cropped brown hair, began to leak brownish blood, and small chips of bone carried by the pooling of blood slipped through thin, broken skin.

The ghoul was thrashing violently. Was it in pain? Was it just some rudimentary nervous system response?

It didn’t matter, really. The ghoul began to moan, but Dani thwacked it twice more in the same spot, leaving a sizable crater in the side of the skull. After the first hit, the ghoul had stopped thrashing. But the second hit made the body shudder slightly, and she thought for a second that maybe it wasn’t quite gone as it twitched.

The closest ghoul had apparently heard nothing and continued moving forward. It piled into the crowd, reaching and grasping between the tangle of bodies, trying to find some kind of hold on the trailer.

The sound was maddening. The strange, airy moans punctuated by pounding and scratching of the siding – relentless with no pattern. An hour of hearing that from inside the trailer would drive anyone crazy. She had to get him out.

Dani crouched and tried to listen for another sound. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear from the kid. IF he was smart, he was quiet. Maybe she wanted to hear him scream or cry, just as a sign he was still kicking. Something that justified what she was about to do. But there was nothing but the chaotic cacophony of the risen dead against the box that held something they wanted.

Dani sighed as she rose from her crouch. She glanced behind her and took several paces back. One thing she had learned about herself in the days since she had settled in at the storage yard was that she was dogshit with guns. Bob had told her as much. But she didn’t have to be good here, just distracting.

She slipped the poker into the pseudo-holster she’d made on her belt. It was a temporary solution and wasn’t designed for anything beyond brute-force functionality. It was just meant to give her a free hand without setting the poker down. As far as she was concerned, it would be best to have a hand on it at all times. The solution was simple: a slit in the belt wide enough for the hooked end of the poker to slip through, but not open enough for the handle to slip through easily.

She unshouldered Bob’s rifle and aimed. Her hands were shaking in her agitation and hurry, and she had to pause. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, feeling more control flow into her grasp. She did her best to line up a shot, and much to her surprise, when she pulled the trigger, she had dropped one of the ghouls instantly, watching a puff of gross spray emerge from the back of the head out of a flap of flesh and bone. The ghoul collapsed so fast it took her a moment to take in the luck here. Of course, Bob didn’t see that one.

But the noise, bright and sharp against the dull moans, hoarse groans, scratches, and slaps, did what it was meant to do, and now the ghouls had begun to turn toward Dani – their attention no longer on the potential prize within the trailer.

Dani took a breath and looked down the sights. She had lined up a shot and fired just as the ghoul had tripped over the recently fallen companion. The ghoul hit the ground hard, and the bullet hit the trailer.

“Shit! Sorry!”

She paused and took a breath. She lined up another shot as the ghoul on the ground struggled to find some footing. It had tripped in her direction, and its crown was mercifully pointed right at her. She fired – another puff of gore, and then a collapse.

The remaining ghouls were well aware of her presence and seemed to pick up their pace, reaching toward her. Their gaits were still stiff and mostly lumbering, but there was a frenzy to it. It was an urgency she had only seen in apparent excitement, a burst of energy as their target was in reach. Nine rotting killers were converging on her, but that’s what she wanted, as fucked as that notion was. They were clearing away from the trailer.

“Kid, if you’re in there, I’m clearing a path! Run!”

She did her best to listen for something from inside the trailer over the gargles and moans of the approaching undead, but it was too much to filter through. She took another couple of steps back and lined up a shot on one of the two closest to her position. This ghoul had once been a young man, maybe a teenager. His left arm was broken, and she wasn’t sure if it was something he’d had before he turned or not. It was impossible not to think of what they once were. As much as she wanted to see them as monsters, she kept finding herself sucked into the speculation of it all. 

She pulled the trigger.

Whoever they once were was gone, and their shadow now, too. It was the only thing she and the others could do for them now.

As the ghoul fell forward onto the asphalt, another chorus of wheezing gasps erupted from the companions. For the slightest second, Dani wondered if they were shocked or mourning their fallen companion. She shook her head, shoving that thought as far back as she could, not willing to entertain the notion. It was just the frenzy.

As she began to aim again, the trailer door swung open and slammed into the railing of the access ramp with a clang. The kid emerged, a boy. He couldn’t have been older than twelve. She locked eyes with him – it was hard not to – they were so wide and white, contrasting with dirty and bloodied skin. The kid was a mess, and she had no idea what his condition was besides alive, and for now, that was all that mattered. She did her best to smile at him, an attempt to put him at ease, but a pair of the ghouls had already begun to turn toward his position, alerted to the sound of the door. Breathless shrieks erupted, and she watched their bodies shudder as they caught on to the kid’s presence. The kid scanned the ghouls nervously, his gaze rapidly shifting between them and the stranger with a gun.

“Run to the storage place across the street, you’ll be safe! We’re safe!”

The boy said nothing as he bolted. He swung down beneath the railing and dodged the two ghouls. He began to run from them as fast as he could despite obvious exhaustion. Dani began to follow, but his path seemed strange, as though he was running from her.

“Head right, out that entrance! Near that bus!”

“Leave me alone! Go away!”

Dani skid-stopped as she saw the kid run into the trashed entrance of the district building. She watched him climb over stacked desks and shelves, into the darkness of the building.

“Shit.” She groaned.

The kid was frightened of her. It was understandable why; companions gone, ghouls everywhere, and a pursuing stranger who had been coming directly for him. From what Edgar had said, the kid seemed to think Edgar had killed the others. How could he not think she was here to finish the job?

Dani glanced behind her, back toward the trailers. The nearest of the remaining ghouls was a good thirty feet away from her position, but that, she figured, was close enough for them to see her enter the building. They might struggle with the pile of office furniture in the doorway, but that was in no way an impenetrable barrier. The darkened entrance made her nervous. She’d be entering a dark place, with no sense of the layout, pursuing ghouls, and a scared kid with a gun. It was hard not to spiral out, thinking of all the bad things that could happen. But he was just a kid, and he needed the help.

Dani’s cuts on the top of her thigh began to throb, and she rubbed at them with the butt of Bob’s rifle. She thought back to Julie and her boyfriend in the apartment next door. Dani could have reached out earlier or been proactive. She knew that.

It was like a damn breaking. Steven. His name was Steven. Why had she forgotten? She knew. She knew the whole time. Steven and Julie. She’d known him well enough to fuck him once, when Julie was at work. She wasn’t sure who had initiated it, nor did it matter. It had happened once. Nothing about that mattered now. All she knew now was she’d pushed his name away in guilt and shame. She’d displaced the tangle of that life and cut and tied around it, like an old net with some shitty repairs just to wring out a little more life from something that didn’t need to eb around anymore. But the damage was still there. 

Steven had volunteered to check the neighboring apartments for some food for the three of them. Dani could have gone too. But it was too awkward, knowing what she had done with Steven. And poor, cute Julie, not knowing what had happened. So he went by himself, climbing down from the demolished stairs. And she and Julie pretended to be good neighbors in the apocalypse, making idle chatter as Dani kept a secret from before the world ended. And then Steven came back, a bite on his arm, and they all thought it was so strange that these sick people were biting one another. It had been nearly two weeks of lockdown. They laughed it off and split their share of the food he’d brought back. She could have helped him gather it, even if she’d fucked him once, and it would have been awkward to be around him.

Dani hadn’t mentioned the broadcast to them the next day – they’d been so limited and so low quality, most had been nothing of note. She was sure it was some doomsday jockey ranting into his private radio. But the man, whomever he was, warned about the bites. The broadcast was less than a minute, but it was so important. She listened to it and then said nothing. The pain of being around them with what she did before, it didn’t matter, but it also did, then, and Dani said nothing, staying in her apartment. She locked herself away as she heard panic and fighting through the dryway behind her couch, listening to Julie’s updates on Steven.

“He’s not looking good. His breathing is laboured. I’m scared. Dani, help.” All the markers of the infection were behind the drywall. And yet the shame was too much. Dani sat by herself, knowing deep down what she was hearing and what it meant. And in time, Steven turned. Then Julie turned. And Dani was alone.

One of her cuts had opened again, and she felt warm and sticky blood seep from the broken skin. She glanced down, seeing the small red blotches spreading on her blue jeans.

The ghouls behind her were clearing the distance. Ahead was the entrance to that district office. Inside was the scared kid who shot big Edgar. 

The rifle’s weight was reassuring, and for a moment, she entertained the thought of turning the gun around on herself. The world was hard enough before it fell apart. She considered checking out back then – what kept her going now? She waited for an answer to emerge. Some sign that there was a reason to keep at any of this. All she received was a stench on the wind, of death and smoke, and the caws of crows.

The wind also carried the coolness of the January air, and she felt a chill. Maybe it was warmer inside the district office?

She sighed, shouldered the rifle, and drew the fireplace poker from the slit in her belt. She marched to the entrance and began to climb into the dark.

Click here to read the next chapter of The Dead Life when it is available.

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The post The Dead Life #24 – Lost Child appeared first on hpkomics.com.

You can read the prior chapter here.

Day 25

Bob had scarcely picked up his rifle, which he had leaning by the side of the RV door, when he noticed that Dani had already cleared the parked car and was in the outer lot, running toward the commotion.

“Dani! Fuck, wait for me!”

Bob was still a pretty spry man, given he was mid-60s, but he felt the years catching up the moment he had begun to climb over the hood and past the open gate; he could not scramble or crawl, and instead belly-dragged himself slowly across the cadillac, losing momentum in the pause to pivot so he could throw his legs over the other side of the car, escaping the makeshift barricade. Dani, in her youthful fucking exhuberance, pressed on, leaving him behind. Goddamn kid.

By the time Bob’s sneakers hit the asphalt again, a pair of ghouls had already emerged from around the corner of the front office building and had taken notice. The closest one moaned out of a slackened jaw; the jaw hung limply, not due to death, but rather it was only tethered in position by a few strings of cheek muscle holding it aloft along the right side of the ghoul’s face. It couldn’t be helped, as Bob watched the ghoul emerge and approach, he watched the jaw dangle like a cat’s toy on a string – possibly at any second, tearing completely, leaving a limp mandible swaying. The ghoul, who was nude from the waist down, no longer appeared to have genitals that Bob could identify. He shuddered at the sight of the dark brown gash of rotting meat that had dripped dark fluid that ran down thin, bare legs.

The other ghoul, by comparison, appeared untouched beyond some superficial rot. That was until its outstretched grasp revealed a hand torn down the center, down to the wrist, between the middle and ring fingers. It was like the poor woman’s hand had been the Thanksgiving wishbone, greedily tugged at by overzealous children. Two loose fingers and a chunk of the rest of the hand hung off the palm loosely, almost unmoving beyond the bounce of motion. The other three fingers wiggled wildly at Bob’s presence.

Dani was out of sight completely by now. Bob’s lungs were itching. There wasn’t a fire in them yet.

Bob drew his rifle into position, something instinctual, a muscle memory still very much sharpened from three decades of living with wholesale slaughter. He never believed in the cause, but he did his duty. Everything expected of him. Everything. 

His reward was shitty lungs and a skull full of bad thoughts. From Viet Cong to the living dead; more faces for haunting the quiet hours.

But he tried not to dwell on them.

The first shot was perfect; the round drilled into the temple of the closest ghoul as it wobbled-walked on unsteady feet, swaying in wide arcs. The ghoul had dropped instantly, and its companion, the woman with the split hand, had not acknowledged its fall, still pushing forward. The ring and pinky fingers, along with their respective fleshy metacarpals, continued to bounce passively.

He couldn’t stand to see the things. He drew his rifle again, just as the ghoul approached the remains of its companion. Not looking, she took a wrong step and collapsed right onto the parking space in front of the body. Bob watched silently as the ghoul fell on an outstretched arm and watched it break. The arm did not reduce the impact, as the ghoul smashed face-first into oil-stained asphalt – a crunch and pooling of blood marking the violence.

And yet, the ghoul stirred. Bob didn’t know if these things could be disoriented, but it had trouble getting up. It may have been more from the broken arm not bearing weight, but he wondered if the dead could also be rattled like he could after a fall.

But, he supposed, it didn’t really matter. He began approaching the commotion, hip-firing into the ghoul’s skull, and making his way to where Dani had run off to. He scratched at the center of his chest – the itch was still there. Always there.

As he walked, Jimmy jogged up from behind him, a golf putter in hand; Jimmy only hung around for a moment to confirm where the commotion was, and sped past.

“I’m not that old,” Bob muttered. He started to jog, eyes darting around, wary of movement. 

He caught up with them. Dani and Jimmy had settled into crouches, covering Edgar, who was on the ground, belly-down, wrenched back, trying to apply some sort of pressure to the back of his leg. It looked to be near the knee.

“Bob, watch out! Someone has a gun!” Dani shouted.

Bob ducked down just off to the side of a thinning brown hedge that ran along the metal-barred gate that encircled whatever this school district building was. Any ghouls on the street outside were a good distance away, and none had managed to wander over toward the storage yard’s gate. Even then, the parked car would provide an obstacle, but Bob wondered if maybe he should have stayed there and held down the entrance for the return of the youngsters.

“IT WAS A FUCKING KID. A GODDAMN KID SHOT ME.”

Bob whirled around. He hadn’t heard that high of a tone out of Edgar and was caught off guard, more so by the delivery than the words themselves.

“What do you mean you were shot by a kid?” Jimmy asked.

A shot rang out and hit the bus. Everyone flinched. It was a wild shot, but in their direction. The kid must have had some training – most panic fire came off in bursts. This was a single shot, and while the shot was off the mark, it was not quite off the mark. The bus was covering Bob and the others.

“That little fuck shot me as I was trying to get away from all those dead shits. There was some kind of fight that broke ou-OWWW!”

Edgar stared at Dani, who was checking his leg by unflexing it to get a better sense of the wound. 

“Sorry,” she said. She pulled his leg back further and gingerly felt around the injury. “Bob?”

“Looks like a .22,” he added. Could have been much worse, he thought.

Dani continued. “They missed your knee, thank god, this is just at the top of the calf. Looks like it hurts.”

“IT FUCKING HURTS,” Edgar shouted. “I got clipped by a fucking fifth grader.”

Bob chimed in. “You said you were running from the dead – where is the kid?”

“Still back there, I didn’t get a good look at him,” Edgar grunted. “I saw three people spill out of a building trying to kill one another, and they got overrun. He must have been with that group. Maybe he thought I killed them or something?”

He paused.

“I… put them down after they’d been attacked. They weren’t gonna make it. She… one of them, her face had been bashed in, and she was drowning in her own blood. I couldn’t…” Edgar stopped as Jimmy gripped his shoulder.

Bob nodded at Edgar, and he kept his expression flat. “Makes sense. Though maybe the kid didn’t understand it. You did what you could to help.”

Dani, still crouched, duck-walked toward the front of the bus. Bob watched her take a couple of quick breaths and glance past the front before he could tell her no.

After a couple of seconds, she pulled back, and then the sound of another shot followed. Another hit to the bus.

“Goddamn it, Danielle.”

Again, the kid appeared to be a good shot. Whomever he had been with had taught him some trigger discipline.

“I don’t see him, but there are a lot of dead things moving toward a spot. I think he might get overrun if we don’t help him.”

Bob said nothing, still thinking about the kid’s aim. Jimmy and Edgar were trying to get Edgar to his feet. Jimmy was having a tough go of it due to Edgar’s heft.

“Guys, that kid is going to get overrun. We need to-”

Jimmy cut Dani off. “We need to get Edgar back to safety first and figure out a plan. We need to remove the bullet.”

“I can get back myself,” Edgar added. He was sweating, doing as much as he could to not put so much weight on Jimmy, but it wouldn’t last. Bob could see the man was tapped out. He was big and strong, but now he came off as helpless.

“Danielle, Dani. We need to get Edgar looked at. We can regroup there and figure something out,” Bob added.

Dani looked up at Bob, who had already risen to his feet, hunched just behind the hedge. He looked back at her, trying to convey that he understood her thinking. And he did, but the kid was too accurate a shot to do this safely with an injured man.

“It’s just a kid,” she pleaded.

“With a goddamn gun,” Edgar added.  Bob sensed the bitter tone. “He’s in a panic, and you’re gonna get shot if you approach him.”

Bob took a couple of steps toward her. “I don’t like it either, Dani, but we need to get out of here. The kid has a gun and a chance. We need to get Edgar to safety and not risk this injury getting worse. We’re not trading a man for the chance of a kid. We care for our own.”

The itching in his chest had grown more intense. He felt the start of a cough but stifled it by clearing his throat.

“I can go by myself,” she pleaded.

“Goddamn it. Dani, it’s gonna take all of us to get Edgar out of here. He’s too big for just Jimmy to support him, and we need someone on point for the way back.”

Edgar chuckled, out of breath. “Fuck you, Bob.”

Bob flipped Edgar off and flashed the man a smile. Edgar nodded. He was still sweating but seemed to be less panicked.

Dani said nothing, turning from the men, staring toward the front of the bus. Bob wondered if she was planning a path and if she would bolt forward. He hoped not. She sighed. She turned back, clearly pissed.

“Shit. Alright, let’s get this done.” She swept over to Edgar’s left and positioned herself under his armpit, bearing as much of his weight as she could, and Jimmy focused on the side with the wounded leg.

“Bob, keep the path clear,” Jimmy said.

Bob, still hunched, moved into the street and straightened his back, rifle drawn. His chest began to burn; the stifled cough was seeking its vengeance. 

As he could make out, there were three ghouls on North Lyon, two coming up from South Lyon. He took up a position in the middle of the street and aimed at the closest of the northern group. He glanced back at the storage yard, wary of motion outside of the rest of his unit.

A sudden coughing fit sent his shot veering off into the top of the ghoul’s chest, sending it stumbling back a step or two, but otherwise did not cut the momentum.

“Shit,” Bob continued coughing. “Move!”

He did his best to suppress the cough as Dani and Jimmy, supporting Edgar, came up behind him. With them behind, he was free to shoot again. This time, his mark was felled, and he watched the ghoul collapse onto the street. The two companions noticed nothing about their third, only moaning as they became aware of Bob’s position. They were still a distance off, far enough that there would be time to get to the gate. It was better to be reactive than aggressive, here.

He also hoped that maybe his shot had alerted the ghouls across the street. He hadn’t heard anything there. Maybe the kid had managed to run in the moment.

He turned to see Dani and Jimmy struggle under the weight of Edgar’s body on their own from his one-legged hops, like they were stakes to be driven into the asphalt. Both of them were puffing nearly as much as Edgar was.

He whirled south and observed that the other two ghouls had cleared the distance surprisingly fast. He took a few steps back, following his companions, observing them. They didn’t seem that fast – he wasn’t sure how they’d gotten so close.

His chest still burned, but the cough had seemed to clear out most of the tension. He wanted desperately to rub his chest, to soothe it as best he could, but he didn’t loosen his grip on the rifle.

As Bob and the others made their way into the small outer lot of the Storage Yard, he took point again, waiting for Edgar to crawl over the hood of the car.

Sure enough, the pair from the south rounded past the fence. They looked “fresher” for lack of a better term, and he wondered how recently they had been living people. Their bodies were still fleshy, and there was no sign of bones just beneath the skin being drawn too tight.

One ghoul’s neck had jagged tears, and the blood was not merely a brown stain, but looked tacky. Maybe a couple of hours old. The other ghoul had a similar, tacky stain around its mouth. Where had this drama played out?

But that was a question for another time.

Bob held his breath, lungs burning. He fired off a shot, hitting the ghoul with the neck injury in the throat. He swore under his breath, took aim, and fired again, this time sending the ghoul reeling back, red blood arcing as it fell back.

Edgar had managed to slide off the hood of the Cadillac and collapsed within the safety of the storage yard. Bob glanced over his shoulder as he watched Sandy march up to the man, simply staring from a yard away from him. He turned back to the ghouls as Jimmy began scrambling over the hood.

“Fuck, Sandy, go grab our aid kit,” Jimmy shouted.

Bob steeled himself as Dani approached and stood next to him. He took aim and fired, dropping the second of the South Lyon ghouls. He began to cough again.

Dani placed her hand on the rifle.

“Got two more coming from the north,” he said.

“Bob, you need to get over the car. It’ll take you longer. I can handle this.”

“Take me longer?”

Dani said nothing, glancing away from Bob, awkwardly. She didn’t want to say it. 

“How old do you think I am?” he pressed.

“Eighty?”

Bob began coughing again, and he tugged back the rifle. “I’m 64, kid. I’m not that fucking old.”

“Just get inside.” She snatched the rifle from him. “You’ve been coughing. Go. I’ve got them.”

Bob sputtered between coughs, “Alright, but you follow right after, got it?”

Dani nodded and took a firing stance.

“‘Eighty’ my ass,” Bob muttered as he approached the gate. He glanced back to see the first of the two North Lyon ghouls round the corner of the storage office.

Bob began to climb the hood of the car and belly crawl back into the yard. As he slid over, he watched Alicia approach, carrying a duffel bag. In the distance, he saw Sandy wheeling around in a golf cart, heading toward the RV where Mary and Alicia had been staying.

“I’ve got the bag, Jimmy, here!” Alicia tossed the bag toward the front of the car. Jimmy caught it and unzipped it, dipping into the supplies with what appeared to be a practiced hand. Alicia continued speaking as she jogged toward them. “Ms. Gunderson is picking up my mom. She used to work at a clinic. She can help!”

Alicia came to a stop in front of Bob and stared down at Edgar, who was on his side, breathing heavily. His brow was furrowed; he was concentrating on anything but his injury.

“Face down, bitch,” Jimmy told him. Edgar glanced back at him and grunted, doing what he was told. He lay on his stomach.

“Alicia, help me down.” Bob outstretched his arm, and she took it, helping guide him off the Cadillac. His feet had clipped Edgar in the head during the dismount.

“Cuídate, estúpido,” Edgar muttered.

“Cállate,” Bob added, winded. His chest was still hurting. He was breathing fire.

Alicia stared out the gate, toward where Bob had left Dani. “Holy shit.”

Bob glanced up over the hood of the car and saw Dani, standing over two crumbled ghouls. She hadn’t fired a shot. She had just finished dislodging her fireplace poker from the skull of one of them, with the rifle strapped over her shoulder. The poker’s hooked end was caked in gore, and the ghouls at her feet looked as though their heads had been bashed in, and the asphalt was covered in a browning slurry with spacklings of white and grey.

“Jesus, kid.”

A distant shot rang out. It had to be the kid again. He was on his own for sure, now. Still measured, still dangerous.

Dani looked toward the direction of the sound – across the street. She looked back at Bob, her eyes wide. Her mouth had been drawn tight. 

Bob remembered that look from Quý on a joint patrol along the Song Gu Via in ‘71. He’d heard a distress call and walked into a trap, quite literally. Bob had never seen a man skewered so thoroughly.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Dani!” Bob shouted.

Dani said nothing. She whirled away from the gate and ran off, toward the sound of the gunshot.

Click here to read the next chapter of The Dead Life when it is available.

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The post The Dead Life #23 – We Care for Our Own appeared first on hpkomics.com.

You can read the prior chapter here.

Day 25

The worst part of the morning for everyone at the camp was the morning constitutional. Unfortunately, with no running water or indoor plumbing, the bathroom arrangement was a horrid shock to the system and probably one of the things Dani hated most about the apocalypse.

Aside from the ravenous cannibalistic corpses, of course.

The camp’s bathroom setup was simple enough: the survivors had cleared out one of the units, and some shelving and boxes enclosed the entrance, with some shower curtains strung across for some privacy. From there, everyone would do their business in an individual bucket that they’d have to empty later through a gap in the fencing at the western end of the lot.

It was the return of the chamberpot. Things really had regressed.

The closed curtain with a hanging air freshener on display indicated occupied space. For good measure, Bob had found a “Pawdon My Mess” sign out of some grandmother’s unit and hung it inside the unit. Dani had begun to despise the cloyingly sweet puppy on the placard. Everyone gave one another a wide berth when it came to ‘shit-central’ as Bob had taken to calling it.

Water was rare. Thankfully, sanitizer and toilet paper were comparatively less rare than water. The group had managed well enough, but soon they would need water beyond what they’d scavenged. Nobody had bathed in weeks; it had been at least a month since any rain had crossed the sky, and there was no luck with water catches beyond the promise they would eventually work when the weather would finally be on their side.

Dani stepped out from shit-central, holding the bucket away from her, glancing around. She hated this. Even worse, however, was the makeshift latrine on the other side of the fence, right next to Bob’s trailer. He’d been kind enough to avert his eyes as she approached with the bucket; she disappeared behind a pair of shelves he had set up as a privacy marker.

She drained the bucket down the pipe that drained into the caustic pit. As the shame sluiced through the pipe, landing with an audible plop, she gazed across the street. Thankfully, the lone ghoul she had spied hadn’t seemed to notice her. She watched it stumble aimlessly across the road. The last thing she wanted was a walking dead man falling into a pit of shit. It would be too much to bear.

“The pool chemicals have helped out quite a bit, keeping the rankness down,” Bob said as she stepped out, bucket lighter but no less traumatizing. “I wish we could have dug a bigger latrine, though,” he added.

Dani placed her bucket on the ground behind the shelf and glanced at the old man. “Please never talk to me if you see me using this spot. Please.”

He saluted her and turned his attention back to his book.

“Doesn’t the smell get to you?” She asked.

“It beats the dead.”

He had a point. Maybe.

“Tell you what, though, there is a reason I don’t open the back window of the trailer.”

Bob’s trailer, the one he lived in as the “security” of the storage business, illegally before the end of the world, had been parked against the metal-barred fence to shore up a portion of it. He hadn’t objected to the decision to dig the latrine next to him.

Hell, he helped dig the thing over the course of a day, dodging ghouls and taking shifts with Dani, Jimmy, and Edgar.

“Danielle. You got nothin’ to worry about. I don’t mind being here at this spot. It’s where all my books are.” 

Dani glanced at the bookshelves he had erected for a privacy wall, and sure enough, he seemed to have added to his library, somehow. The shelves rested comfortably beneath the pop-up he designated as a library. 

“Truth be told,” he rose from a salvaged recliner, “I have an idea and could use some help with this situation…” 

Dani reflexively nudged the bucket further back with her foot as he approached.

Bob put his hands on his hips and stared at his feet, a frequent gesture he made when working toward something. Generally, his instincts were good, and she was already intrigued.

“I didn’t find a shed or nothin’ in any of these units. I know it was a long shot, but I had hoped maybe some taxman or someone had bought one and never assembled it. If I had a shed, I could rig us up an actual head.”

“Head?”

Bob laughed.

“Sorry, old habits. Bathroom. I could rig us up a bathroom that can work with that latrine, especially if we dig it further and get some more of those pool chemicals.”

“No more shit-central?”

“Baby girl, we’re talkin’ shit-palace.”

Dani and Bob laughed a bit at this.

“If you can get me something from the Hardware Depot down the road… one of those sheds, I can repurpose that toilet we found last week, the one that was still boxed up.”

Bob paused and coughed a bit. It was deep and rattling, less of a sign of imminent danger or illness and more of his general age.

“Excuse me. I’d also need some pipes and all the plastic bins we can get our hands on, but… well… I think everyone would feel a hell of a lot better, and once the rains kick in, I think we could be doing pretty well for ourselves.”

Dani nodded. “That sounds doable. We’ll see when Edgar gets back about arranging a trip down the road.”

“Edgar is still out?”

“Yeah, scouting that place across the street.”

“He seems like a good guy. I hope he’s being careful.”

“Me, too. Though…”

“If you’re gonna say something about him having that gun on him, I get it, kid. I do. But you gotta also think about it from his perspective. Most of us here know nothing about one another.”

“I know, and you’re right. That’s why I am not making a big deal of it.” Dani reached into her left pocket and pulled out the copy of Dracula. “By the way, the kid is done with Dracula and wants to borrow something else.”

“Oh god, yeah, absolutely. Has she read The Hobbit?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Well, take it to her.” Bob walked over to the shelving and scanned the rows until he found a small, silver-colored paperback featuring a mist-shrouded mountain on the cover. He handed it to Dani.

“Thanks, I am sure she’ll love it.”

“You know, you can take a book, too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you only either working or hiding in that Airstream for the past week.”

Dani took that in for a moment, not registering it entirely until she replayed what he had said. She suddenly found herself on the back foot. It was a sudden, uncomfortable shift to be chastised for not reading given the circumstances, but self-consciousness won out, and she wheeled for an excuse. 

“I’ve never been much of a reader.”

“I can’t think of a better time to start. No more Simpsons.”

Dani sighed. “Yeah, okay. What do you recommend?” She paused, then continued, “And if you say anything Amy Tan, I’ll feed you to one of those dead things on the streets.”

“Not a fan?”

“No, just… had a teacher at community college in an English class who kept saying that I was going to love the book, and it was very relatable. Didn’t even understand I was fucking Korean. It was embarrassing.”

“Gotcha.” Bob scanned the shelves and, after a few moments, added, “Okay, well, how about this?”

Dani took the book from Bob. The cover was faded, torn in a corner, and the spine was so cracked that any of the text was now illegible. 

She scanned the cover. “Shane? Is this a western?”

“Yeah, not a fan?”

“Didn’t say that… I used to watch True Grit with my dad. A lot of John Wayne movies, actually. He was obsessed with the guy.”

“Yeah, we talked about The Green Berets a few times. Your dad was – is – a good man.”

“Yeah, pretty sure he is dead, honestly,” she replied, almost reflexively.

They were both silent after that. All that broke that stillness was an occasional caw of a carrion bird. They’d been so active the past few weeks, and it wasn’t pleasant to consider why. 

“Dani, it’s only been a month.”

“And look how bad things are, everyone is dead, in hiding, or is fucking with everyone else. I know my mom and dad. They wouldn’t make it. He was too trusting of everyone.”

“He was a good man.”

“So are you, but you can be a son of a bitch when you need to, Bob. He never could. Mom walked over him. I got away with all sorts of bad shit. I loved him, loved them, but I’m not holding out hope.”

“I’m sorry, kid; you’re probably right, but damn, I don’t like you going there so easily. The minute you’re broken, I think we’re all screwed.”

She took in a sharp, quick breath. How could she tell Bob that she had been broken before the end of the world? She was relieved to have that AirStream with that locking door so that she could just get away from everyone.

Everyone listened to her, spoke to her, but she refused to speak about what was going on in her head. She didn’t like that so many decisions about the camp had fallen to her when she wasn’t even sure she’d have a reason for living in a state of perpetual fear for much longer.

“I’m fine, really,” she replied.

The scars on her thighs throbbed – a brief instant of dull pain that ebbed into a dopamine flow of some sense of control, albeit briefly. She’d started cutting again; it had started up the day when she had to club her undead neighbors to pulp.

“Well, just give the book a try, okay?”

“Sure.” She wasn’t sure if she would.

A sharp burst of static made her jump, and she looked to the walkie-talkie that Bob had set on a box near his chair. Alicia’s voice rang out, “Dani, are you there? My mom’s leg is really hurting again, and I am not sure what to do.”

Dani walked over and picked up the walkie. “Sure thing. I’ll be there in a moment, okay?”

Another crackle, and Sandy’s voice came through: “I thought these were for emergencies?”

Dani couldn’t help herself. “Yes, we’re dealing with an injury, you’re just being annoying. Over and out.”

Bob snorted.

They’d managed to find four of the devices, and they had been very careful about using them. Come to think of it, Dani remembered, the fourth handset was in her trailer.

“I wasn’t aware Alicia had one. Did Edgar ask for one earlier?”

Bob had slumped down into his chair. 

“He didn’t, he said the sound might draw too much attention as he was scouting the place.”

Dani didn’t like that. She had already felt foolish for not using the walkies effectively days ago when Edgar had to make the pied piper run around the block to divert the ghouls. Nobody had remembered that they had them as they waited out the moment, and it was a complete shitshow. Since then, they’d been strategic about who had them… mostly. Sandy protested not having one, so she was ostensibly a “scout” in the second-story apartment above the office.

“He should have taken one. He could have taken mine.”

“Hey, I told him to grab one, and he said he wouldn’t want to risk it.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

Dani shook her head and began to walk toward the back of the yard. Still a shitshow. A shitshow she had been seemingly pushed into managing. She felt lacking.

As though it were a reminder, the couple of spots on her thigh throbbed again. She embraced the pain, briefly, until the sound of three sudden pops in the air caught her attention. Gunfire.

She had turned and seen Bob scramble to his feet, craning his neck to look through holes in the fencing to get an idea of what had happened. Dani jogged up.

“Across the street,” he said. “Sounded like gunshots, right?”

The sounds had erupted across the street where Edgar had been scouting.

“Sounds like he might have found somethin’, Danielle.”

Click here to read the next chapter of The Dead Life when it is available.

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The post The Dead Life #22 – Shit Happens appeared first on hpkomics.com.

Last year, I produced a run of three strips for an anthology from the team behind the former Haunted MTL. Consider them a pilot. Since the book has been out a while, it feels like now is a good time to share the comics and make a little proposal.

Thorn By My Side: The Test Comics

So, let me pitch something, shall I? Here are the three comics. They were completed in January of last year.

Alright, so take a moment and see if you like them. While you do that, let me explain a little bit about the concept.

You’ve probably seen several drawings of Briar, who is one of the two leads of Thorn By My Side, especially if you’ve been following me on social media for a while. They are showing up n the sketchbook a lot. You may have also seen a decidedly spicier Briar drawing as well. You have also seen Thorn, the goblin, at least a couple of times. I’ve been noodling around with the characters and trying to find a style for them. Looking at these test comics, I already see some stuff I might change. But they exist as a thing you can look at now and that is important.

The Concept

The concept of the comic is a simple one: Briar is a girl-failure millennial who struggles with anxiety, work, and her not-so-social life. Her case is pronounced enough that she has been assigned a life coach in the form of an emotional-support cryptid named Thorn, the goblin. Thorn, however, is not very good at his job, nor does he want to be, and he just finds it more fun to enable Briar’s behavior, acting more like a roommate than anything. Of course, only Briar can see Thorn. Maybe it’s all in her addled millennial brain. Or maybe there is quite literally a council of cryptids who try to guide humans toward betterment. We’ll probably find out.

That’s it, that’s the concept. There are, of course, other things involved, some other cast, and some possible stories. The main thing is that this would not be a big story or anything, just a comic strip. The comic is a way for me to process experiences about my generation and explore culture, anxiety, and life through a couple of characters. Relatable gags about life are the key, but with some elements that lean into the overworked, undersexed, awkward Briar and the somewhat sociopathic enabler Thorn. Two neurodivergent folks living together probably make one another worse.

I’ve thought about different kinds of gimmicks and worldbuilding, such as some light lore about cryptids and their relationships to humans. I have also considered ideas like having the characters review things as comics that lean into their obsessions. Hell, I’ve even considered doing NSFW comics as well – the idea of Briar being a failed OnlyFans model has popped up a couple of times. Nothing is set in stone, but people do seem to like Briar, and I am a people pleaser.

Plus, goth girl, so…

Basically, I think there is a lot of opportunity for the comic, but the question is: is there a potential audience there?

So…

So, what do you think? Would you want to see more of this comic? Please comment and let me know what you think about it, and feel free to ask any questions you may have. I’m not committed, yet, but I wouldn’t mind hard questions if you have them.

If you would like to support the work on do here at the website and help me produce comics and stories, donations and subscriptions always help. I post early access material on Ko-fi for as little as $1 a month, and it can really add up. My current goal is to handle my monthly server costs through donations, and we’re about halfway there.

The post Thorn By My Side: The Test Comics appeared first on hpkomics.com.

You can read the prior chapter here.

Day 25

Edgar had been scouting the school district office for a couple of days now. His shifts at the Kim Family Storage rooftop perch across the street had allowed him to take in the layout and observe the local ghouls and their aimless wanderings.

The entire grounds seemed locked up – all gates had been padlocked shut in a hurry, except for one rolling gate that had nearly been demolished by a school bus that had burst through at some point during the chaos of the first few days of the dead. Now up close to that very same rolling gate, Edgar saw that the bus tires were shredded. Unmistakable brown trails of dried blood marked the dusty yellow surface on the outside and the windows from the inside. Behind one of the brown streaks, there was motion… one of the dead was still wandering around within, seemingly pacing up and down the aisle, content with a small domain.

Despite his size, he had managed to stay low on foot, crouching and crawling between vantage points around the block and always warily shifting his gaze around. When these creatures were not alert and moaning, they ran eerily silent. He had nearly had a close call as he crawled past the front office of the storage yard and did not see a ghoul walk out from between a pair of abandoned sedans in the road. That had been the first day of scouting, and it had rattled him so much that he shouted and alerted a few more in the area. He had fled back to the storage lot for safety, and he and Bob had picked up the trio of stragglers that had followed from behind the safety of the metal gate.

Edgar would not make such a mistake again.

Based on Edgar’s observation, the only point in and out that was walkable was the busted rolling gate, but that area also had a pair of nearby wandering ghouls in addition to the ghoul within the bus.

It was manageable, but what concerned him most were the sounds he had heard from inside the district office, echoing out between the buildings of the district campus. Periodically, there was shouting and the clanging of pipes and slamming doors, punctuated by a series of moans from the ghouls. He hadn’t heard these things until he had begun poking at the perimeter, and even then, it all sounded so faint.

Edgar was unsure of the disposition of the survivors, if he was hearing what he thought he was, but the clamor was great. He was sure it was more unknown people than he was willing to deal with on his own, especially given the incident with the police car. He’d been lucky with Bob and Dani, and lucky again with the new ones, Mary and Alicia. Sooner or later, luck would run out.

The good news was that the patterns the ghouls seemed to follow were aimless but also felt almost regular, as though they would reach some boundary, invisible or not, and reverse course. Today would be the day he would test that and work his way into the district grounds to see what he could find.

There was no rush. He wouldn’t push it. He wasn’t in a hurry to die. He woke up with a start more than once these past few days, remembering the swarm of ghouls clinging to his car a week ago – remembering the back seat of the car and the condition of the woman he was sure he’d known.

Edgar came in low, practically on his hands and knees, following along the side of the bus, out of sight of the closest ghoul ahead. When he was close enough, he squeezed himself under the bus. If it hadn’t been due to consistent starvation, he would have been unable to do that. The most fucked of blessings. He was still the biggest person in the camp, but he felt smaller than he had been before everything changed. 

He shuffled quietly on his belly under the bus and toward the front. Pausing, he watched desiccated feet shuffle back and forth; the sticklike legs were in tattered slacks, and one foot was socked but without a shoe.

He watched the ghoul’s motion until it came close enough. He pulled a small camping hatchet from the back of his pants and grabbed at one of the legs, tugging hard. Instead of dragging it under, the leg snapped off, and the ghoul fell to the ground. Black blood splattered, and Edgar quickly tossed the broken leg away.

“Fuck,” he whispered. He scrambled out from under the bus and grappled the waist and back of the ghoul as it thrashed. With an overhead swing, he brought the blade to the back of the skull with a sickening thwack, cracking the rotting skull open before the ghoul even made a sound. Pausing for a second to see if it was done thrashing, he scrambled to his feet to the other side of the bus, peeking out from the front, wary of any movement.

That hadn’t gone as planned. Edgar glanced down at a bus tire, noticing it was so shredded that it could not be an easy fix. He wondered about possibly replacing it, but realized where he was in relation to the bus. Sure enough, Edgar stood in front of the open door. He crouched and held silent for a moment. The ghoul inside must have been in the back because there was no sign of it.

He took his hatchet and flicked away some blood. He tapped the handle at the first step, crouching against the side of the bus. The wait was agonizingly long for the ghoul to spill forth, enticed by the sound. When the creature arrived, it tripped down the stairs, crumbling into a dusty, rotten heap. Edgar pinned it down on the ground with his knee on its back and gave it a couple of violent thwacks with the blade. All that was left of his handiwork was a oozy dark puddle and rubbery nuggets of brain matter, looking like the world’s worst plate of scrambled eggs.

He glanced around, and the other ghouls who “patrolled” this space had wandered off. There was a gap if he wanted to push.

The facility would take a long time to clear at this rate. With no ghouls in sight, and his exit seemingly opened behind him, he pushed forward, taking a low run toward the first building, which appeared to be the school bus depot.

The building was a small outbuilding combined with what appeared to be a large carport meant for bus maintenance. There was no sign of wanderers, so he ducked into the small office that seemed to operate as a dispatching area. The place was a wreck, but there were no signs of life except for some smears of blood on a table. Peering out of the office, he saw the school buses that occupied the large parking lot. There were three parked in the large lot, and a lone bus in the bay that appeared to be mid-repair. Other buses had been out on the job when the place had gone into lockdown, Edgar figured. But the remaining three were just what he was hoping to find – if they were still operational.

He turned his attention back to the small room. There were a couple of computers on desks, a couple of phones, a small table, and some chairs. Little else, beyond, but he checked behind the desks anyway. He was surprised to catch sight of a minifridge, but then realized what was in there had probably become little more than sludge.

Curiosity won out, however, and he crouched down, opening the door. The scent of rot punched him in the face, nearly knocking him onto his ass, but the sight of a sealed can of cola won out. He snatched the can up and slammed the refrigerator shut, gagging all the while.

After a few moments where he could collect himself, he studied his can of cola. It had picked up a little odor from the fridge’s contents, and he ineffectually attempted to wipe away any grime on his pant leg.

He turned the can over and saw it was a diet soda. He grimaced at the idea of a diet soda, but also realized there wasn’t much of the stuff left in the world in the long run. Sugar was sugar.

He checked the date on the label, and sure enough, it was good. Worried about what the can may have picked up from the condition of the minifridge, Edgar spat on the rim and then whipped the can as cleanly as he could with a corner of his shirt. He cracked the tab and took a sip of the sickeningly sweet cola. Content, he took it down in a couple of huge gulps.

He finished the last sips and set the can beside him. All this time, there had been no sound coming from anywhere outside of the office. He rose to his feet, glanced out the door, and turned his attention to the bus in the bay.

From what he could tell, the tires appeared fine. He saw the engine hatch was open and couldn’t eyeball much regarding the engine’s status right now. He made his way to the side of the bus with the door and nearly shit himself when he saw a body hanging down over the stairs.

If it had been a ghoul, it would have moved – but it was just a body. Was it the driver? Or was he a mechanic? Leaning in, Edgar saw that the man appeared to be neither. He wore what used to be a pale green dress shirt and a tie with brown slacks. The man didn’t strike Edgar as someone who actually had much to do with the maintenance or operation of buses. Based on the computers in the room, Edgar figured that the man had a dispatcher.

What was the story here? Edgar had been thinking a lot about the ghouls and bodies he’d seen, wondering about past lives and final moments. He knew why. That car had rattled him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Since then, he couldn’t help but consider stories.

The body did not appear to have any major wounds from behind. Curiosity gave way, and Edgar grabbed the shirt at the collar and pulled the corpse from the doorway. He turned the body as best he could, and caught a leathery face frozen in shock and fear. He also saw a screwdriver jammed into the chest.

Edgar’s head spun with theories, but he settled on the story that maybe the dispatcher and the mechanic were fighting about something in the chaos. Maybe the mechanic ended it.

Edgar just wanted things to have some kind of reason.

Edgar plucked the screwdriver free and flicked the gunk from it. It was a longer piece of kit, and he figured it would be worth holding onto. Inside the bus, it was relatively clean, beyond the exposure to open doors and windows.

Yet, there were still no signs of what was wrong with the bus, if anything. The keys were in the ignition, but there was no clear way out without moving the bus from the gate or opening another gate. For now, he’d let this one sit in silence, but took the keys with him. It was lucky that the driver hadn’t taken the keys with him.

Edgar made his way to the closest building, which seemed to be some sort of administrative spot. The lot was dotted with other cars, which might be useful – he clocked each one and added it to the mental inventory he had been taking. He kept his creeping, crouched movements, ducking past wandering dead, and made his way to a glass doorway. 

The doorway itself was in good condition, but he noticed that things had been piled up against it on the other side, serving as a makeshift barricade. He saw some desks, chairs, and boxes. The handles of the doors had been lashed by what looked like a belt and jacket.

The barrier was just about waist-high, and fabric had been strung across to hide anything within, outside of the small slivers of space between the barricade and the fabric. Edgar wasn’t sure if the ghouls could see anything, but he understood the impulse. He’d considered lining the fencing with cardboard back in the storage yard.

Realizing he’d come this far already, Edgar kept out of sight and approached the door, placing his ear to it.

Sure enough, there were voices. 

Raised voices. 

Shouting.

Gunshots.

“Fuck, fuck.” Edgar scrambled away from the door, falling over a couple of times, dashing his way back toward the garage area, keeping as low a profile as possible. It was amazing he hadn’t drawn any ghoulish attention in the scramble so far. 

Sure enough, dreadful moans seemed to echo all around, and the sound of muffled gunfire from inside continued to pick up. He ducked around the corner into one of the bays and watched as shattering glass scattered over the walkway where he had just been, and office furniture and boxes tumbled out with a pair of people.

Edgar watched the two run for their lives, a man and a woman. Both were thin. The man, already bloodied and clutching an arm, seemed to shield the woman’s body. The woman’s shirt was torn, a breast exposed.

A third man spilled out of the same doorway and fruitlessly pulled a revolver trigger over and over. His face was covered in blood, and his steps were lurching. Out of ammo, he picked up his pace like a crazed beast, striking the first man on the head. He overtook the woman, grabbing her by the hair and throwing her to the ground.

Edgar saw him climb on top of her and club her with the revolver; the other man, who had been brained, quickly tackled the man with the revolver, clubbing at him.

Edgar threw himself out from behind the wall of the garage and ran toward the scene as the two men struggled over the woman, but four ghouls had begun approaching them from behind some parked cars.

“Watch out!”

Edgar waved and cried at them, but the two men played out their drama, ignorant of him. It was too late; the ghouls converged and fell upon the struggling men, tearing them apart.

Edgar watched in horror as greasy fingertips slashed at the gunman’s neck, and hot blood burst forth. In a second, another pair of hands grabbed at his scalp and began pulling out clumps of bloody hair. The gunman hadn’t been as fortunate with two ghouls falling upon him and sinking rotten, yellow teeth deep into the neck and shoulder. Edgar was shocked at how strong and quick the monsters moved at the prospect of fresh flesh.

Each man was stripped of skin and tissue by teeth and fingertips. He’d watch a ghoul take a bite and tear strips and ribbons of flesh free, only to see flesh roll out of open mouths, where the ghouls would then go back, sinking in their teeth even deeper. Edgar had never seen the things feed so directly. He felt like he was about to vomit, but Edgar swallowed down the acidic bile that rose in his throat and cautiously approached the group to see if he could at least help the woman.

The ghouls were distracted by their eating frenzy, and the sounds of the men’s screams masked Edgar’s heavy steps. As he was within a few feet of the gruesome scene, he noticed the woman moving. Her face, however, told a different story and amounted to little more than a bloody bowl – he swore he could see white teeth in a puddle of flesh where a face used to exist. The gunman’s revolver had smashed her nose and teeth, and she was drowning in her blood. Her gargles terrified Edgar.

He closed the gap between them and, tears in his eyes, brought the ax’s blade down on her face, smashing what was left of her head into three wet chunks. He cried as he put her out of her misery and, when finished, whirled around and smashed at the skull of the closest ghoul. His swing was wild and glanced off bone. He doubled down and struck again, sinking the blade deep into the ghoul’s temple.

Edgar flew into a rage, striking any head he saw in a pile, and after a few moments and a couple of near bites, had brained every single one of the ghouls and the men for good measure. He instinctively grabbed the revolver and absentmindedly pulled the trigger a half dozen times, hoping at least a single shot was left.

There was nothing there. He knew that.

But the compulsion was too great. 

He tucked the gun into his pants and noticed the commotion had begun to pull in a few stragglers. How had there been even more of these fuckers hidden away? He grabbed the long screwdriver from his belt loop and clumsily rose to his feet, winded.

This scouting trip had become a catastrophe. He wouldn’t chance the district office. It was time to leave.

Click here to read the next chapter of The Dead Life when it is available.

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The post The Dead Life #21 – Stepping into a Private Drama appeared first on hpkomics.com.

You can read the prior chapter here.

Day 25

It had been more than a week of relative calm for the residents of the Kim Family Storage – at least, by Dani’s count. The calendar that sat in the office was already a year old, and she had to maintain her own count until they found a 2000 calendar. From there, time was in their care. 

Since the police car, the group had kept a tight watch from the roof directly on the corner of Lyon and Acacia, careful of ghoul movements. Beyond small clusters, the streets had been relatively silent. Dani, Jimmy, and Edgar had managed to stack some boxes and some sideways shelves up top to keep anyone on scout duty out of direct view. 

It had been a pain in the ass to get that stuff out there, but it would work well enough for the ghouls. The problem was that any people who might see the strange stacks on the roof would probably get a sense of what was up. Bob and Jimmy had planned to create a small wall running along the perimeter in the future. Nothing much but something that would allow for crouched movement, and more to the point, a little protection from any trigger-happy passerby. But that was one of several projects that emerged as everyone decided it was time to settle in for safety.

Not just safety from the dead, either. The cruiser was a grim reminder that they were not alone.

The drug store raid had been a success, and the supplies had helped ease their minds and filled their bellies – at least relatively. Another run, this time to the dollar mart a couple of days prior, had borne a decent supply of canned goods. Best of all, the trip went on without a hitch. So much so that Dani and Edgar had even managed to fill some bags with supplies they couldn’t carry back then and hid them out of sight for a supply run that they had planned for tomorrow.

As for Dani, now, she sat in her trailer, enjoying the reprieve of privacy. In the time she’d been here with the others, there were several swaps and trades regarding the on-site RVs. With the arrival of Mary and her daughter, Alica, Dani had given them the larger one she had been staying in, opting for an old Airstream. Dani wasn’t much for comforts these days. A door and a mattress were about as much as she needed. And a door lock.

Her trailer was tucked just in front of one of the indoor storage areas, which was little more than a concrete structure with several small, closet-sized units. This was where the residents had kept the supplies, and Dani held the key and the watch. The decision to lock them away was not popular, but everyone accepted it.

Accepted by most, anyway. Sandy Gunderson had voiced her concerns over the lock for the past two days. Everyone knew Sandy had snuck a bag of goods while unloading the last supply run, but everyone kept silent. The less she had to complain about and the more time she spent in the apartment above the rental office, the better. Her contributions to the camp were frequent anxiety at best, sprinkled with offers to pray with anyone who would wold accept it. If Dani was feeling generous, she could maybe see Sandy as a camp cook, but Dani suspected that it was more out of Sandy’s perceived necessity for “non-ethnic” food.

It was not lost on Dani, and clearly not on Sandy, that except for Jimmy, their group was not very white. Dani remembered when she was a kid that Sandy had called her a “slant-eyed monster” when she’d accidentally knocked over some paperwork in the office. Mom and Dad had not been there to hear it, and it was something that Dani carried with her going forward.

Dani thought about this little wound and picked at it enough to let out some tension. “Man, fuck that bitch.” 

She shook her head and rose to her feet.

Dani stepped outside of her trailer. The Airstream was planted firmly against the concrete wall along the eastern half of the lot. She had mounted a pop-up canopy over the entrance and braced it with a chest of drawers, a cabinet, and a bucket of nails. Some lawn furniture and a ratty roll of astroturf turned it into a rudimentary outdoor room. It wasn’t much to look at, but the shade was nice. It could be a little too comfortable at times. She’d accidentally taken a nap in the lawnchair and hadn’t allowed herself that since. There always needed to be a lock between her and the monsters – she needed to be sure of that.

From her “covered porch,” she could see Mary and Alicia’s trailer, a couple of dozen feet ahead, parked much like her trailer against the wall. Alicia Macias was sitting on the RV’s roof, reading a book. She saw Dani and waved to her, and Dani responded in kind. 

She liked the kid. Mary, though, was out of sight, likely inside. The broken leg from the drug store was a mess. They had done as much for her as possible. Dani would check in later.

She wasn’t quite sure how to deal with Mary; her recovery was a source of frustration, and more than once, Dani had seen her looking, for lack of a better term, shellshocked and unwilling to state much about life before the day everything fell apart. As open as Alicia was, there wasn’t much there. What was clear was a missing father, and that could be for so many reasons.

But as Dani took in what she could, the reason was appearing more and more obvious, day by day.

Directly across from the Macias’ “residence” was one of the clusters of units where the shitty brown Cadillac of Jimmy DeWitt and Edgar Rosas usually sat. They had opted to claim six units for their own needs in that row. They had also found an additional awning and erected it in front of where the car was normally parked to provide a little outdoor cover.

Dani made her way toward Jimmy’s cluster but was caught off guard by how quickly Alicia had climbed down from the RV. The kid was agile.

“Ms. Kim, I saw a big crowd of those things in the neighborhood behind us.”

“How big of a crowd?”

“It was tough to count them all, but I saw at least ten on the street, between the houses. Not counting the ones in the windows. It’s so weird seeing them up in those rooms like that.”

“Good eye. I am glad you’re keeping an eye on this side of the place. I know Bob appreciates the help.”

“Oh, speaking of Mr. Clark, could you take this book back to him? I’m done with it, and I don’t want to get too far away from my mom right now.”

Dani took the book from Alicia. She flipped it over in her hands and noticed it was a torn and stained copy of Dracula. Well loved.

Alicia was staring at the book. “I liked it, but the vampire felt a bit too… well, real. You know?” She looked up at Dani.

Dani nodded. “Will you be borrowing a new one from him later?”

“Could you pick for me?”

Dani smiled. “Sure, I’ll pick up a repair manual.”

“Hah.”

The two stood in silence. The sounds of birds and insects brought a sense of calm with chirps and clicks on the light breeze. The January mornings were cold, but Emmet was very much a town in a desert in many respects, no matter how many orange groves had been there 80 years ago. It was a California cold, which was largely pleasant.

“Alicia. How is your mom?”

“Her leg is still pretty fucked up.”

Dani’s eyes widened.

Alicia shrugged. “I’m 14.”

Dani laughed. “I know. I know. Sorry. I was just thinking about how my parents would have flipped had I dropped the ‘f-word’ on them.”

“You can’t even say it now, Ms. Kim.”

“Fuck off, smartass.”

They both burst into laughter. After a few moments, Dani sent Alicia off. “Go ahead and check in on your mom, Alicia. Let her know I am gonna come by in a bit to see how she is doing.”

Alicia nodded and, after a brief moment, gave Dani a small hug. Dani initially felt surprised but returned the gesture by squeezing the girl’s elbow. She was a good kid.

Alicia wandered off, gesturing with a wave as she approached her and her mother’s trailer. Dani turned her attention back to the units claimed by Jimmy and Edgar. 

Jimmy and Edgar had opened four this morning. She saw that they had removed various boxes, which had been torn open. The contents had been strewn about in multiple piles, the two still obviously sorting through them. 

The presence of an overly furry lady’s coat on a coat rack caught her eye for a moment. She had no idea what animal it once was, but the fact that Jimmy or Edgar had perceived enough value to hang the coat up was pretty funny. From what she had learned about them, she expected that it was a Jimmy gesture, the more reflective of the two.

She made her way down the row, the main row that ran toward the front gate. Sure enough, she saw Jimmy, the slighter of the pair, standing at the front entrance. His hair had grown a bit longer, and he had a tangle of red curls starting to form. He was in sweatpants and a t-shirt salvaged from one of the boxes. As she approached, she noticed the neon-colored graphic of a boat with “Catalina Open ‘92” in stylized letters on the back.

She presumed nobody in their sanctuary had ever been to Catalina before.

“Where is Edgar?” she asked as she approached.

Jimmy looked back; his hands were on his hips, intently studying the buildings across the street. He pointed to them.

“Edgar is scouting that building, so we’re keeping the gate open when he gets back. I’ve got the car parked there so he can climb over. The dead aren’t great at hauling themselves over things, and Bob and I have our eyes on it.”

“Edgar is there by himself?”

“Believe it or not, that giant is very quiet.”

Giant didn’t even begin to describe Edgar. While only about 5’9”, by most estimations, he was thick, a seeming combination of muscle and fat. Edgar was like a wall. Dani was glad to have him around.

Jimmy was different. He was skinny, and his muscles were ropey. He looked underfed, and his unruly red hair had not only grown longer at the top of his head, but he was beginning to develop a rat nest for a beard. Dani would need to get him something to trim it next time they were on a supply run.

He was pretty wiry-looking when he first came to the storage yard, but since then, he seemed to have mellowed out. He had been enthused about the company and things to do. He was one of the hardest-working people she had met, always up to something to make the location more livable, and the first to assist in projects.

He didn’t even bother hiding his track marks lately. Dani had been puzzling out how long ago he’d kicked his habit and if the work helped him manage. Dani had also been sweating whether this would be a problem down the line. By Sandy’s pointed comments, it already was – for her – but Jimmy had been graceful in feigning ignorance.

“Any idea what he’s looking for over there?”

Jimmy scratched his chin vigorously, and Dani could hear the rustling of hair. “We saw that it’s a school district facility or something. I think they make food there, school lunches and shit… and there could be buses.”

Dani used to live around the corner, right across from the district buildings. She hadn’t paid attention to it at the time. But thinking back, she did recall a colorful mural on one of the walls – some design based on the work of a kid. She always just thought it was ugly and weird. 

She supposed she saw some buses there from time to time as well. It was shocking how disconnected she felt from the location across from her apartment of two years.

“Why are we interested in buses, Jimmy?”

He smiled. “Well, if we can hotwire them, we can take a couple of them and build a wall around the parking lot in front of us.”

Dani looked at the lot; they hadn’t been able to use it due to the necessity of fixing the broken gate.

“We could find a way to make another gate and have two layers of protection here,” she added.

“Yep. Maybe even park a couple of cars or a truck for supply runs.”

“It could also give us a chance to fix the gate. Really fix it.”

“Yeah. I feel really shitty about breaking it. I swear I’ll fix it.”

Dani took a few steps forward toward the rolling gate and shrugged. “You didn’t know anyone was here, and you’re doing what you can to help. Nobody is mad.”

Jimmy pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his sweats’ pocket and a book of matches from the other. He lit up and began to puff away. Dani watched him for a moment, and soon enough, he nodded at her, plucking the cigarette from his lips and offering her a puff. She enjoyed it. She handed it back.

“Is he going to be okay by himself?”

“If it were me, you’d be right to be worried. Edgar, though, fucker is built different. He won’t be long. Besides, I really, really want to get to the parking lot.”

“We have plenty of parking here for now; it’s a good idea, but we basically have all the time in the world now.”

“It’s the grass in between the parking and the sidewalk. The soil. I think I can get a garden going.”

Dani’s eyes narrowed. “No shit?”

“No shit. I was in 4-H in high school, and my parents shipped me off to a boy’s ranch as a kid. I picked up the knack for growing.”

Dani thought back to the day Jimmy and Edgar had crashed the gate of the storage yard. Dani and Bob had found marijuana packed up in one of the units belonging to Jimmy.

“So that weed was homegrown, I assume?”

“I can grow potatoes too.”

“I’m sure you can.”

Jimmy took a couple more puffs and handed the cigarette back to Dani.

“I have some ideas, though, I see it, but I need the supplies.”

“Do tell,” Dani urged.

“Well, I can build some garden boxes. We can plant anywhere with those in a pinch. But I need wood, wire, liners… soil bags… seeds; it’s a lot.”

Dani handed the cigarette back to Jimmy. “Hence, starting with that patch of grass to get something going,” he added.

“Makes sense,” she added, “thinking of loading up one of the buses?”

Jimmy looked over at the truck still parked against the front office’s windows.

“That moving truck would have been perfect. I hope we can salvage that if we close the lot.” He began to hand the cigarette over to Dani, but paused and took another puff with a faraway look. “I am thinking about a lot of supplies because I have a much bigger idea.”

He paused for a moment, perhaps worried he was going to sound crazy or something. He looked at her, his eyes a little wide and his eyebrows sloping outward, concerned.

“Dani, do you know what is next to us?” He gestured behind them as he spoke, back toward the southern part of the storage yard, “That area between us at the houses?”

“Not really. Just some dirt, right?”

“A drainage ditch for one, and a dirt alley with the railroad tracks.”

Dani remembered that a railway, long since abandoned, had run through part of Emmett for nearly 60 years. The railway was mostly something used back in the early 1930s, as much as she knew. Maybe it went back to the town’s founding. The tracks were an artifact of the day when the town was known for its orange groves. She saw where he was going with this.

“You want to seal the place up and grow back there?” she asked.

“It’d give us a lot more room than some boxes and a strip of grass in front of the office. We could line the road with a wall that could give us a direct path rather than needing to climb up and over a unit to get there. There may be enough buses to do that with one or two for us to use as transport.”

It was a good idea, but the project seemed like a massive pain in the ass, especially given the need to secure the area and move the goods. She understood why Jimmy and Edgar were interested in the buses. This was workable, but would take some doing.

“The problem is,” Jimmy continued, “that we can’t risk losing that truck in front of the office yet because we can’t reinforce the window frame. We don’t have anything else that can work to haul around the supplies I need.”

Dani thought about it for a moment. Jimmy offered her the last few puffs of the cigarette, but she politely waved it off, deep in thought. She thought back to the area around them and where they had been the past few weeks.

She remembered something about her flight from the apartments where she had lived before the bullshit went down. The place was around the corner and seemed so much further away when she first escaped. Now it offered a tantalizingly close solution.

“I know where we can find a moving truck.”

Jimmy’s eyebrow raised, intrigued. He dropped the cigarette butt and mashed it with the toe of his sneaker.

“Hell yes.” He beamed. “Fuck yes.”

Click here to read the next chapter of The Dead Life when it is available.

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The post The Dead Life #20 – Home Away from Home appeared first on hpkomics.com.

I am still thinking about the project quite a bit and I am considering moving forward with it a bit, but I am trying to find an art style that suits the project. Briar’s design is very much evolving and I am going to keep playing with it until I land on something I feel I can work with consistently. Especially if I am looking into moving into a comic strip with her and Thorn.

In any case, I am really trying to update the sketchbook more. I don’t want this tablet display go to waste. I felt a little uneven and shaky drawing this one, but that is because I am just out of practice. The tablet display is doing it’s job well. It really comes down to me setting aside more time to draw.

But sometimes it is just easier to take a nap when I get home from work, though. Maybe yell at me on social media to motivate me, I guess? I feel like I need folks to hold me accountable.

Anyway, thanks for checking out the sketchbook.

As always, if you are interested in supporting what I do, you can do so through donations on Ko-Fi. I also take commissions.

The post 2026 Sketchbook #014 – Briar appeared first on hpkomics.com.

Successive novella segments will be linked in this header and at the bottom of each post.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Performer’s Park was a rather green slice of an otherwise artificial environment, which was Teslovia as a whole. What Kracker knew of civic engineering was little, but he knew enough that green spaces were vital in a city, particularly one of Teslovia’s continental-size, as cities trapped heat. As soon as he stepped foot into the park, he felt a good ten degrees cooler. Beyond that, greenery was vital to the senses. A natural connection. It seemed like hundreds of citizens had made their way to Performer’s Park for that connection. Kracker flipped off his sandals and let his feet sink into the soft, tightly trimmed grass. 

Buskers, bands, and artists filled public spaces or crowded hastily constructed platforms, performing with their various instruments. Kracker moved from small crowd to small crowd, sampling each musician’s style. Nothing seemed to click for him. 

Granted, every musician was talented, but nothing he had heard seemed to convey the mood he was aiming for. Disappointed, he made his way to the edge of the park and took a seat on a bench. It had been painted and tagged over by dozens of artists over the years. Layers of decals, paint, and do-it-yourself printing made the bench’s surface uneven, but still comfortable. He wondered if the years of art worked like a cushion. From here, the individual performers became a discordant mess, their individual refrains coagulating into a tumor of noise.

Then, as he sat, a simple guitar tune drifted by. It was something low-key, sure, but there was some underlying vibrancy in the notes. Kracker rose from the bench and looked in the direction from which he heard the music. He began to follow, and as he did, he felt the strumming quicken and the music grow more confident. His eyes darted around the park and down toward the various tall buildings on the perimeter. 

Then he saw a Gomben, guitar in hand, sitting against a small information kiosk, strumming absentmindedly. Kracker approached and noticed the small placard sitting in front of the guitarist. It featured the intergalactic symbol of patronage, an orange, rounded “P” shape, and a mobile code. Kracker knelt, typed the code into his own mobile, and threw some credits the Gomben’s way.

“Thanks, man,” the Gomben said. He continued to strum out an improvised melody.

“Not a problem, you’re really good.”

Kracker stood back up and continued to listen. The Gomben smiled and began to improvise a new melody, something a little lazier and more wistful. This was the kind of sound Kracker was looking for.

“You wouldn’t happen to be available for a party tonight, would you?”

The Gomben flashed a wry, toothy grin as his fingers plucked the strings.

…

“So, my friends, do you have any idea what your flight plan will be?” Spril asked.

Marken took a sip from his teacup, “Unfortunately, that is decided by GalactiCorp. The minute we know, we’ll send word your way. I wouldn’t mind having another ship grouped up with us for safety.”

Mara self-consciously picked at her salad, only now aware of how awkward her choice of food was given the present company.

A server approached the table and set a small salad before Spril.

“Thank you,” he said, and then immediately stuck several of the leafy greens with his fork, scooping them into his mouth.

Mara and Marken stared at the scene, unsure of what they were seeing. Spril paused for a moment, feeling their eyes on him. He swallowed and smiled.

“I assure you I didn’t just eat my cousin,” he looked directly at Mara, “though I can’t say if your lunch is a distant cousin or not… we all seem so similar sometimes.”

Mara’s eyes widened.

“I’m joking, Mara. Just because I have plant characteristics does not mean that I don’t need food. Vegetables are the most efficient food source there is. Besides, salads are delicious.”

Mara and Marken began to laugh. She took a bite of her own lunch, but then Spril chimed in, “Although your plate does remind me of a growth I once had…”

Mara set her fork down and furrowed her brow toward Marken. He smiled and then turned to Spril, “That’s enough, Spril.”

The Floraran flashed a wicked grin. “I just couldn’t resist.”

“Well, I am certainly regretting my lunch choice now,” Mara pouted.

“When in doubt, stew it out, at least that’s what I’ve always said.”

“You’ve never said that before, Marken.”

He leaned toward her, “I always say that. To myself.”

Spril took another bite of his salad. “Don’t worry, Mara, you’re fine. I may be related to plants, but then again… aren’t we all? I just skew a little closer and can take on their genetic characteristics.”

“That’s always fascinated me,” Mara said, “this galaxy is just full of interesting surprises, isn’t it? If I’m not mistaken, I think our security guard, Guugel, has some characteristics similar to yours… or at least that’s what his eating habits tell me.”

“Guugel? Oh, yes, that cute little Wot security guard of yours. How is he?”

Marken slurped down some stew.

“I think he’s off spending his bonus on some souvenirs or something.”

…

Guugel, at this point, had found himself wandering away from the major thoroughfares of the city into the more cramped corridors between the major buildings that made up the blocks. He was still mostly on the top-level of the city, though away from the central routes, more and more overhangs and walkways blocked out the sunlight. So far, he hadn’t found much of interest beyond his dancing Syrien doll. 

He stumbled into an intersection of two avenues that opened up into a small plaza and sat himself down for a moment on a curb. He pulled out the doll and jiggled it slightly, watching it perform its spring-powered dance.

He peered around the small plaza, particularly at the dried patch of grass in the center. He noticed the sun hit the patch in just the right way to dry out the grass, and he began to think how nice a tree would look in this little spot. Maybe his travels would bring him back here after a while, and he’d find it to be a bustling little spot of weary pedestrians resting in the shade.

Guugel put the doll away in his backpack and hopped to his feet. He decided to see if he could find a tree… but where to begin? Guugel studied the four avenues radiating from the plaza and made his way down the one he was most unsure of. 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought to himself.

…

The ambassador’s office was cramped and stuffy. Dash could see it from out in the secondary lounge where he found himself waiting, his initial visit approved. A tired-looking Terrekin of about 70 or so, on the cusp of middle age, was taking a meeting.

His eyes nestled into heavy, dark bags, and the sides of his olive-green face looked jowly and unshaven. He seemed to be talking to someone whom Dash couldn’t see. But he could see that the ambassador was growing increasingly agitated.

“Well, that’s certainly going to make my meeting interesting,” Dash said to himself.

He continued to watch until the ambassador rose and extended his hand to the other individual in his office. They shook, almost begrudgingly, and the other Terrekin stepped out. Dash couldn’t place what seemed off about him until he turned around to say something to the ambassador. Dash saw that the Terrekin’s shell was an artificial one – composed of treated plastic. 

Dash rose, knowing he was next in line to meet with the ambassador. The Terrekin with the artificial shell stormed off, dropping several sheets of paper. Dash knelt to pick them up, but by then the gentleman with the artificial shell had already wandered off. Dash shrugged, folded the papers, and tossed them into his bag. He’d find the guy later.

Dash stopped in front of the door and turned to the secretary, who seemed busy. He looked in on the ambassador, who also seemed overworked, already sorting through papers and datapads piled onto his desk. Dash shrugged and knocked lightly on the door frame. The ambassador’s head rose quickly; his look of frustration was readily apparent. He did his best to mask it with a smile and gestured for Dash to take a seat.

“How can I help you, Mister… uh…” the ambassador flicked through appointments on his terminal, “Kameku, yes? I’m Quinlen Sev.”

Dash nodded and took a seat. “Yessir. I was hoping your office could assist me in ferrying some sensitive equipment back to Ocia.”

“That seems like something that could be handled via a shipping company, though?”

Dash shrugged, “Under any other circumstances, I’d agree with you, but given the nature of the equipment and the networking fees involved, I figured I could classify this as a public works project.”

“How so?”

“Well, I want to ship a GIN relay to my home village, and because it is a potential addition to Ocia’s communication network, I figured there were maintenance and installation concerns, not to mention that this is a large, expensive piece of equipment to move over public shipping. Given this, I also know that I can ensure proper, safe delivery if it’s treated as a public works project, so-“

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down, kid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What village?”

“Movari. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“You’re right. Never heard of it.”

“I’m not surprised. We’re on a small island off the coast of Konshu.”

“Konshu, huh? My family was originally from there. Tell me more about this relay.”

“Well, Movari is quite small and doesn’t have great access to Ocia’s communications network. We have to use Konshu’s system, but we’re in a bad spot because we aren’t close enough to the island for a good signal, and we aren’t a large enough population to be granted a relay by the government.”

“So you’re taking it upon yourself to solve the problem?”

“Well, doing what I can. I came into some money I don’t need, so I figure I can put it toward a good cause.”

“That’s admirable. I think I may be able to help you in that regard. At least there’s something I can accomplish today.” Quinlen’s brow furrowed slightly.

“I imagine the pay you get as an ambassador more than makes up for it, though, right?”

“HAH! How much do you think we make?”

“I thought an ambassador would be rich.”

“Do you have any idea what a Federation ambassador makes? Our pockets don’t get lined like ambassadors from the Neutrality.”

“I had no idea, I didn’t mean to assume-“

“It’s no worry, kid, I understand. It’s not a great system we have, but I’ve found it to be worth doing what I can from inside. To be honest, I wish I had your gumption regarding another project.”

“What sort of project?”

“Well, my last visitor was my business partner. We’re trying to fund a prosthetic shell lab here on Teslovia. Most prosthetics have to come from Ocia and we figured a lab here would make a lot of sense because it’d be easier to ship the prosthetics if we grew them here.”

“I noticed his shell was a prosthesis…”

“Oh, no, no, we’re talking about full-grown shells that accept nerve connection, like our birth shells. Genetic matches and everything.”

“That’s a great idea. We can do that, now?”

“Absolutely. We’re at the forefront of this. It’s good work. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Problem is, my position as an ambassador requires that I don’t take a major stake in any businesses that I may potentially have influence over. If this thing can get launched, I was planning on retiring. Then, of course, there is the idea of raising the money-“

“Do you need another investor?”

“Desperately, but… well, I have to end my involvement here. I suggest you talk to Korl about it.”

Dash reached into his bag and pulled out the papers Korl dropped.

“He left these behind.”

“Good, good. Listen, go see him, I’ll give you his address.”

“Sure thing. About my-“

“Oh, of course, of course. I’ll make sure all the paperwork is in order for your relay. That won’t be an issue.”

Quinlen rose from his chair and extended his hooked arm ahead of him. Dash rose and did the same. The two touched forearms – the traditional Terrekin greeting.

“Thank you, Mister Kameku. You’ve certainly made my day a little bit brighter.”

…

The dingy waiting room of the augment clinic smelled like sweat and alcohol. In truth, it was less of a waiting room than a loading dock with sloppily constructed walls meant to provide some illusion of privacy. The seating was, for the most part, limited to crates, except for a threadbare sofa that Alix had claimed when she arrived. A couple of “patients” wandered around the room, idly occupying their time until their turn for surgery.

Getting here had been a challenge requiring some bribery and stealth. There was an inherent disappointment in realizing the operation was happening in such an unhygienic location. She made a note to herself to purchase some antibio patches, just to be on the safe side. She wished her options weren’t as limited as they were, but given her background and the nature of the information she needed to retain, an unregistered storage drive mod was her best option.

A nurse – a haggard gaur Alix could only describe as “lumpy”  –  opened the door and poked her head out, asking, “Kira Vaan?”

Alix rose and made her way over to the door. The nurse held it open in her strong, Gaur arms. Alix noticed the telltale injection scars on her forearms. Apparently, the nurse had some augmentations of her own or a potential drug problem.

Ah well, Alix thought, too late to back out now.

She followed the Gaur down the hallway. The Gaur’s steps were heavy and lumbering across stubby legs, and several times Alix noticed the nurse do the “knuckle-walk” – a result of the sheer amount of weight and the length of the arms of the Gaur as a species.

The nurse gestured to a door, and Alix stepped inside. The Tentachlid surgeon was already sitting at a counter, filling out paperwork.

“Please sit on the examination bed,” he said. He did not look up from his paperwork.

Alix looked at the door behind her, which was now shut, and considered simply walking away. She sighed and hopped onto the examination bed, which seemed tailored to a Blassnaught’s proportions.

“Alright, miss…”

“Kira.”

“Sure. Kira,” the doctor winked with a singular eye, that appeared more to be a drawn-out blink, “what are you looking for?”

“I need a portable drive implant and an access port implanted into my body.”

“Hm. Cosmetically-clean?”

“Yes, preferably to be covered by the fur on my arm.”

“Well, that’s going to run you at least 3000 credits for the drive, and another 450 for the cosmetic work.”

“I have the money.”

“Well then, let’s get started. Anesthetic?”

“T-that’s not included?”

“Surgical-grade anesthetic is expensive and in short supply for pop-ups like this. There’s a premium of 200 credits attached to it. 350 if you want the good stuff.”

Alix gritted her teeth. “Fine. Anesthetic. The good kind… but don’t skimp on it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The doctor tapped a small series of buttons on the side of the bed and forced it to recline, catching Alix off balance.

“Just let me know the drive and adapter you want, and where you want the implant.”

Alix stared at the door one last time and then turned her attention to the inventory list on the tablet the doctor held in front of her.

…

Mara, Marken, and Spril found themselves back on the Greensleeves, talking over the options of the gardening business. Suddenly, Mara felt the mobile in her pocket vibrate. She excused herself and stepped to the side to see that she had received a text from Guugel:

GUUGEL: Are you and Marken seeing that gardener today? Can you ask about a sapling for me? I’m looking for one.

Mara smiled and quickly hammered out a message:

MARA: Come see us on his ship. Dock 16, Section Orange, Budget Docking.

She felt a little devious. She could have easily asked for the sapling on Guugel’s behalf, but Spril had been so keen to learn about the Wot that she felt like maybe Spril was interested in him. It was worth a shot, at least, getting them in the same room. She tucked the mobile back into her pocket and made her way back to the others.

…

Kracker felt optimistic. The guitarist had eagerly accepted the commission to play for the party. He was a nice young Gomben named Jem who was courteous and took copious notes about what exactly Kracker was asking for.

He was on his way now to pick up some snacks and drinks for the party to be delivered to the ship. Nothing extravagant, of course, but something for everyone there. As he made his way down the crowded boulevard, a sign caught his eye. He studied it, recognizing the green diamond of the medical industry. He weaved through the crowd and stepped inside. The air was chilly, and he immediately knew that this was a Grey establishment. Shelves featured boxes of medical supplies and equipment, and behind the counter were locked cases of premium-quality pharmaceuticals. At the counter stood a rather bored-looking Grey.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Kracker approached and looked around. “I’m looking for a medical thing.”

The Grey had no discernible eyebrow, but the muscles above the left eye contorted, indicating confusion.

“This… is a medical supply shop.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m trying to find a gift for a friend, but I can’t… hm.”

The Grey sighed. “A tool?”

“My friend? Yes. Haha…”

The Grey’s brow muscle contorted again.

Kracker coughed, “I mean, yes, the thing I am looking for is a tool. Something to deal with triage…”

The Grey rubbed a temple with a finger in contemplation. “I assume you are referring to a diagnostic probe?”

Kracker nodded, “Uh-huh, uh-huh!”

The Grey briskly stepped around the side of the counter, and Kracker followed him to a shelf displaying different boxes of probes of various brands and specifications.

“Do you know what kind of probe your friend might be looking for?”

“No idea,” Kracker beamed.

The Grey sighed.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

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Mulluck Eghart lay on his back, his head turned, watching the Wolf leave with the thin stranger and the child. He smiled and spat up a little blood. He’d enjoyed himself greatly and was excited to have an opportunity to fight the werewolf. He’d kill him next time.

He rose off the muddy grass and spat up a bit more blood with a cough. After catching his breath for a few moments, he rose to his feet, swiped at whatever mud he could see clinging to his body, and trudged toward the Mayor’s home. He slipped off the iron knuckles and tucked them into his pocket. As he approached the steps to the porch, he noticed one had been shattered into splinters – likely the fault of the beastman. He skipped the step.

The foyer of the home was a mess, again, mostly the fault of the wolf, though Eghart himself had contributed to it. Though the Mayor needn’t know that – if he were still alive. Eghart paused at that thought – he sincerely hoped the Mayor was not dead. The man had been one of the few people in Eghart’s life who treated him well enough. Eghart may have tried to pull the wool over his eyes with his gambit all those years ago, but the Mayor gave him work and a home and a sense of stability he’d not felt since he was a child, before the monastery, the farm, and the various bandit camps he’d fallen into. Eghart liked the man.

Though he wasn’t convinced that the Mayor wasn’t aware of what Eghart truly was. If he was, he understood the score and kept Eghart around. It was maybe the best relationship Eghart had with any authority in his life; he would rather not lose that. He doubted the town would last long without Mayor Gorval. Though that was likely due to whatever bargain he’d struck that Eghart had no details of.

Eghart approached the man on whom his comfortable existence depended; the Mayor was crumpled into a heap at the base of a bookshelf, covered in errant tomes and scrolls. Eghart crouched, cleared away the small pile, and saw that the Mayor was alive but unconscious. Eghart exhaled and then realized he’d actually been holding his breath. He was relieved that he hadn’t been mauled to death.

Eghart lifted the man from the floor, quite handily despite the Mayor’s not-quite-inconsiderable girth, and propped him up onto one of the seats in the center of the study. The man’s head hung loosely, and Eghart had to lean it back over the top of the seat. 

Glancing around the room, Eghart took in the chaos – the wolf had carved a swath through the study. He couldn’t make out much about what had happened beyond an overwhelming sense of rage. The crossbow bolt sticking out of the opposing seat suggested the Mayor had been agitated as well.  After a few seconds, Eghart saw the crossbow on the ground near the doorway and picked it up, just as Mayor Gorval stirred, groaning.

“Ughn.”

“What happened, sir?”

Corrigan Gorval’s head lolled toward Eghart, and the Mayor was slow to respond, his eyes wide, then shutting again. The man was having a hard time seeing. Eghart approached, holding the crossbow in one raised fist with his other hand held open and flat.

“It’s me, Captain Eghart.”

Gorval, with great effort, leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, and his head slumped down, staring at the floor. He coughed a bit and spat up some blood onto the rug.

“Fucking werewolf attacked me. One second, I was dealing with that medicine man, and the next I felt myself flying. Then I hit something, and everything went dark. Did you see where they went?”

Eghart placed the crossbow down on the floor next to the Mayor and stepped toward the shattered window, where the werewolf had made his entrance into the home. Glass crunched beneath Eghart’s bare feet, but he felt nothing.

“I saw him climbing into the window from the street and ran here to stop him. Fought him, and he overpowered me. I got my shots in. Ran off with his partner and the child – the other Gorse kid.”

“You fought him?”

“Yes. I can get him next time.”

The Mayor was silent for a moment. Eghart continued to stare through the shattered window as he heard Gorval rise to his feet – all grunting and heavy breathing.

“You saw the Gorse girl… they took my niece?”

“She seemed to go with them willingly, sir.” Eghart turned back slightly to look at the Mayor. “She stabbed me.”

“It’s all falling apart, isn’t it?”

“Not if I can help it, sir. Now that I know you’re safe, let me go get them.”

The Mayor had walked toward the pile of books on the floor at the broken shelving and tapped at them with a slippered foot. He grunted, though Eghart couldn’t be sure if it were frustration or pain. Maybe it was both.

“The Wolf… they were… are… a Triserian. There is some magic in their blood, and that may be why the undead are closing in. Like predators fighting over territory.”

Eghart understood predators more than the Mayor ever could. He said nothing.

“It’s like watching ants. Those two stirred up the whole pile, and they’re trying to kill the invaders…”

The Mayor turned from the pile of tomes and stepped toward Eghart.

“Can you kill the mercenaries? Maybe we can still salvage this situation. If they’re gone, things can go back. The truce can go back.”

Eghart nodded.

“I need silver.”

The Mayor’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he made his way, limping, to another set of shelves against one of the walls, piled high with boxes and books. He plucked a polished wooden box from a shelf and wiped away a layer of dust from a bronze plate set on the lid. He paused for a moment, glancing longingly at it. He limped back to Eghart and shoved the box toward him, which Eghart took.

“Do what you must. Kill them both. Bring back my niece. I’ve already lost a nephew. I won’t lose her, too.”

“I don’t know if she’ll go willingly. She attacked me.”

“Beat her to within an inch of her life, then. Just bring her back alive by any means necessary. She can hate me for the rest of her life, but at least she’ll be alive to do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Eghart, thank you. You’re going to save us all.”

Eghart paused. He nodded awkwardly. 

“Sir.”

Eghart swept out of the room and out into the open air of New Gordhurst. He pried the box from his chest that he had been clutching tightly, overwhelmed and short of breath.

Eghart had always been a survivor beset by cruelties beyond measure. He still woke up some nights, terrified that he was still the same boy on that ranch. Sometimes Elspeth would rub his chest and ask him what was wrong. He’d tell her nothing and take her, or she would take him. That was their arrangement. 

But the Mayor’s words had shaken something loose just now. Corrigan Gorval relied on him, and not just as a captain of the guard. For the first time in a very long time, Mulluck Eghart felt something other than rage or the anxiety of survival. 

It was pride. He had someone he relied on, but who relied on him as well.

Eghart would do everything in his power to fix the crisis and get the girl back. He’d slay the mercenaries. He’d beat the Wolf to death. He would save everyone of this shitty town. He’d not just be “Egg” anymore – and even if they continued to mock him, he knew that they depended on him, and he would remind them of that. Their lives were in his hands.

He glanced down at the wooden box in his hands. The bronze plate’s etching read “To Harriet, my Beloved.” He flipped the lid open to see dull, but still quite fancy silverware. The set was still complete. Now it would serve a greater purpose.

Eghart closed the box and made his way to New Gordhurst’s meager forge; the weight of the iron knuckles in his pocket was a welcome sensation.

Soon to be the tool of the demise of the werewolf.

Soon to be the tool that saved the town.

…

Nathan Gorten watched Egg wander from Corrigan’s home, holding a small wooden box with a rather uncharacteristically light step. He wondered if the man had taken to looting the place, and if he would find his brother dead. He’d heard the clatter from the inn and had watched Eghart and the Wolf fight. He’d seen his niece in the fray and had conflicted feelings about that.

Eghart had fared well, but ultimately lost. The mercy of the Wolf was striking, and Nathan had wondered if that had been a mistake. Eghart was a murderer – that much was obvious. He’d become a good tool for his brother. Nathan never trusted the man; his arrival was suspect, and the man was off. Between the pale skin, his massive frame, and his curious tolerance to pain, Eghart made Nathan nervous. He’d seen the man back into a spear once and not react. It was terrifying watching the man pull the head of the spear loose from his side, slowly and awkwardly, and not so much as flinch.

Nathan approached and surveyed the damage to the home. The window had been shattered, there was damage to the steps to the porch, and the front door had been ripped off its hinges. He made his way up and paused at the doorway. He’d not set foot in the ill-gotten home in years. He followed the porch to the window and glanced inside, seeing Corrigan’s back as he sat at the desk.

“Are you alive?”

Corrigan glanced back over his shoulder, staring back at his brother. He winced, clearly in pain, and Nathan was pleased by this.

“Yes, regrettably for you, I am still alive.”

“I may hate you, Corr, but I don’t hate you enough to see another brother die. I came to see if you were okay and let you know that our mother died this morning.”

“Fuck.”

“Corea found the body.”

Corrigan turned back to face the inside of the study.

“I see. I feel for her. That can’t have been pleasant.”

“No, she is Larian’s daughter for better or worse, and she seemed… hardened this morning. Resolved to something. She reminded me so much of him when we were kids.”

“She was here, you know.”

“I saw. With the two mercenaries.”

“And you are okay with that?”

“She is Larian’s daughter. She won’t be stopped.”

“You’ll trust her with a fucking monster and soldier of fortune over her uncle, then?”

Nathan huffed.

“You’re not her uncle, Corrigan.”

“I am Larian’s brother, just as I am yours. I am her uncle by all rights, and you fucking rats filled her head with lies. Her and Garen, both. Do you hate me so much?”

Silence hung in the air for a long moment as Nathan wondered what to say. He said nothing, and that said everything.

Corrigan rose from the seat and approached the window, looking Nathan in the eyes.

“I won’t lose any more of my family.”

Nathan moved closer to the window frame and leaned against the wall, staring at Corrigan.

“Its not just your family that matters, Corr. You have never understood that.”

“I lost my son.”

“So did others. And some lost daughters. Some lost husbands, fathers, uncles. Wives, mothers, aunts. We should have fled further when it all fell, but you chose not to.”

“I had my reasons.”

Nathan slapped the wall.

“Just like you had reasons to fall in with that magician. You were blinded by greed. You’ve always been. You hired a killer to guard this town. How many people need to die for your poor judgment? You can’t salvage this. That Necromancer wants us here, and you are giving them what they want – why?”

“Then flee. Leave.”

“You know that I can’t do that.”

“You did when you and Larian changed your names. You forced Mother to do the same thing. You poisoned everyone against me when I needed you all the most,” Corrigan leaned closer, continuing, “yes, I fell in with that dark magician, and he seduced me, Harriet, and Martin. But you abandoned us to him.”

“We broke away because we warned you and you refused our help.”

“That is not how I remember it.”

“Memory was never your strength, Corr.”

Corrigan reached through the open window frame and grabbed Nathan’s apron, pulling him closer. Nathan ripped Corrigan’s hand away and took several steps back.

“I’ll be burying Mother this afternoon. You are welcome to come. Consider it a gift to remind you of having a family.”

“Fuck you.”

Nathan shook his head.

“Your greed fucked me and everyone else long ago. No, thank you. No more.”

Corrigan stepped further back into the study, nearly slipping on splintered wood from the collapsed desk. Nathan watched him in silence as Corrigan drew a crossbow that had been sitting in the dark. He held it aloft and aimed it at Nathan.

“It’s not even loaded, Corr. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Just leave. Go.”

Nathan sighed and sidestepped away from the shattered window. As he followed the porch, he could hear the sound of crying coming from the study.

He couldn’t help but cry as well. How had things gone so very wrong? He thought of his mother and was glad she had not lived to see what had just happened.

…

“I can take care of that for you in a couple of hours; there is no need for swords or horseshoes today,  Mr. Eghart.” Sandval, the smithy, looked Eghart over. “You look like a mess. Did something happen?”

Eghart stood there, a fistful of silverware in each hand. He said nothing, and Sandval simply shrugged and set the kettle into the forge. Eghart dropped both fistfuls of silver into the kettle and reached into his pocket, placing the iron knuckles on a nearby anvil. He walked away from the smithy, who began to inspect the knuckles.

Eghart whistled a tune as he walked back toward his home to prepare for his hunt. It was a sweet little song, and he couldn’t quite figure out if it was a lullaby, a work song, or a hymn. 

Not that it mattered.

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Day 17

The cruiser screamed past the corner where they had paused. Dani had no way of knowing if the driver had seen her group. She felt uncomfortable about someone knowing where she was… someone she didn’t know.

The moans behind the party had grown louder in the ghouls’ approach. Edgar had slowed to a crawl at this point to keep the ghouls on the Cadillac. Now the car was practically swarmed. Dani couldn’t make out how many ghouls had begun to scramble over the surface. All she saw was a tangle of gooey, flailing limbs.

Jimmy had already begun to dash across the street. His gaze was planted to his left, down the street, toward the other group of ghouls converging on their location. Dani pushed her cart forward toward the side gate of the Family Storage – home. She just pulled up after Jimmy had already begun pounding on the gate.

“Bob! Bob, hurry up!”

Bob was rattling the chains that held the gate shut. “Hey Jim, what the hell was that? Was that a fuckin’ cop car?”

Jimmy stood at the cart, his knuckles white from his grip on the bar. Bob was still fumbling with the lock and chain. Jimmy rocked the cart back and forth, ready to charge the instant there was clearance.

“Yeah, guy buzzed us twice, and we’re pulling deadies. We gotta get Edgar in quickly with the car.”

“It’s really close, Bob,” Dani added.

The chain came loose, and the gate began to open slowly. Jimmy stepped away from the cart and pulled hard to assist Bob. Dani had already rolled her cart inside and to the right, just past Sandy.

“Where’s the car? Did you lose the car?” she asked.

Dani rolled the cart forward and ran back to the gate, pushing Jimmy’s cart in as he finished moving the gate back. Sandy had approached and glanced out toward the street, looking worried.

“Where’s the car?”

Jimmy snapped, “It’s coming along with a dozen of those dead fucks.”

Sandy glared at him for a second and then took several steps back, creating distance between herself and the gate.

Dani stepped back out onto the sidewalk and waved down Edgar. He accelerated slightly, shaking loose a group of the ghouls, who tumbled onto the ground like sacks of meat from a refrigerator shelf. Edgar turned the Cadillac to drive into the storage facility, but Dani stepped right in front of him, slapping the car’s hood. She felt uncomfortably close to the ghouls that were limping toward them.

She glanced at the two groups rounding the corner.

“Ed… you gotta lead them away.” 

Edgar threw his heavy frame through the driver’s side window and glared at her. “What? You’re kidding…”

Dani shook her head and slapped the hood again, pointing at the growing crowd. “That cruiser screwed us. There are too many for this gate.”

Edgar grunted and then slapped the roof of the car. “Shit. Fine. Stay low.”

He reversed the car and began the slow drive down the road. Dani dashed back past the gate and helped Jimmy slam it shut. She threw on the chain and closed the padlock.

Dani and Jimmy stood away from the gate. Jimmy turned to Sandy and Bob and gestured at them to stay quiet.

The ghouls began to pass in front of the gate as they followed the car. The gate, thankfully, had a green screen of woven plastic fiber to keep the group out of sight.

A couple of the ghouls, the closest ones, had slapped and rattled the gate, but the distant sound of Edgar’s horn pulled them away.

…

The wait was tense. The last of the ghouls, the ones from the second group, had finally wandered by after what seemed like forty minutes.

Sandy was the first to say anything. “They’re gone, now, right?”

Dani shrugged. “Seems like it.”

Bob was sitting in a lawn chair a few units down, reading a book. Jimmy paced back and forth between periodically unloading goods from the shopping carts. All the while, Dani had been at the fence, breathlessly observing the undead stragglers in silence. Their movements were clear, even seen obscured by the green fabric – jerky, uncoordinated, unnatural.

What were they?

…

Dani had lost track of time. The ghouls were long gone except for a few stragglers along the street. They’d managed to slide the gate open enough for her to squeeze out and peek up and down the street. She also had taken advantage of one of the nearby ladders after they’d closed the gate again. There was no sign of Edgar, Mary, and Alicia last time she had climbed up to the roof of a row of units. She was worried.

She had found another lawn chair and set it up near the gate. Jimmy was still messing with supplies, arranging them into different piles and groups. Bob continued to read. Sandy had wandered off to another unit and was going through boxes of clothing.

The sound of an approaching car echoed in the concrete canyon of the storage units. Dani rose to her feet and peeked out through a small gap between the fence and gate, and saw the Cadillac.

“Hey, let us in,” Edgar yelled, “I couldn’t shake them all.”

Jimmy had already dashed away from his piles of supplies and was unwrapping the chain from the gate. Dani helped him slide the gate open.

The car rolled in, stained with grimy, bloody marks from ghoulish hands, but all the passengers intact. Dani felt a sense of relief, but lost it the moment she spied a group of the approaching undead. It seemed to be about ten or so stragglers who fell out of sync with the roving horde earlier. 

Dani pushed the rolling gate with all her strength as Jimmy pulled at it. Within moments, the gate rattled shut against the pole, and Jimmy looped the chain around it as quickly as possible, slamming the padlock shut.

Dani and Jimmy both stumbled back as the first crash of the ghouls smashed against the fence, rattling it. Torn fingers wrapped around the exposed metal rods, and through the green woven plastic, dark red blotches spread unevenly across the surface.

In moments, the gore had washed over the green cover with a sickly brown color.

Bob was already helping Mary out of the car into his golf cart. Each of her steps was labored. Sandy stood by awkwardly, not helping, as was her typical state. 

Alicia came stumbling out of the back seat and moved close to her mother. Dani noticed a slight sneer on Sandy’s face, no doubt annoyed and having strangers in her midst again. And a child no less, Dani thought in mock horror.

Dani felt Jimmy grab her hand and pull her to the side, away from the gate and into one of the open units. She glanced at him, and he nodded toward the Cadillac, which Edgar began wheeling into position in front of the gate, backing into the open unit. Jimmy pulled away his hand quickly.

“Sorry.”

Dani shrugged.

After the car was parked in front of the gate, Edgar stepped out, his gun wedged into the band of his pants. Dani walked out of the unit and gave him a knowing look. Jimmy followed along. Edgar shrugged and handed the gun over.

“Sorry… must have slipped my mind that I had it on me.”

Dani smirked. Edgar smiled back. She turned to Jimmy, who looked nervous, still.

She tucked the gun into the back of her pants and walked toward Bob and Mary in the cart. The moans of the ghouls were heavy in the air.

“Hey, Bob. Sandy. Meet Mary and Alicia.”

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