Flash Fiction #3 - From the Mirrorman Journal May 18

The main character I created for my Zombie stories is "The Mirrorman" a vigilante type character that is trying to save humanity for the ever increasing Zombie problem.  Here is a short piece taken from his own journal.  

Enjoy,
Robert


I fought with a thug last night. But he was different than all the rest. He was hunting me.

The night was busy. I jumped from one location to another breaking up crimes. Pimps beating their girls, punks robbing anyone they happened to come across. The gang wars - I didn’t get involved with, I figured it would be better if they got rid of on another. Then I came across the well dressed lady in a bad part of town. She looked like an executive from a fortune five hundred company, and she was being assaulted. The punk had slammed his meat fists into her face before I was able to get down to the street. And when I did, he turned to me and smiled a missing tooth grin, before he said “It’s about time you showed up.” I knew right then I had been set up, so I expected the blow that was coming my way, letting it hit me in the jaw I went with the punch and rolled out of the way far enough the punk couldn’t get another punch off without having to take a few steps in my direction. The lady was staggering to her feet with the help of the wall, her once pretty face was starting to puff up from the beating, but she was still an unknown piece of the puzzle, and questioned her reasons for being here in the first place.

The punk was just about on me, he was big, very big, and slow. I fainted left, then dove right and swept his feet out from under him. He fell on his back with a loud thud. I straddled him, and grabbed his collar with my left hand and started beating his face like it was a whack-a-mole at an arcade. Something caught my ear, and I stopped beating the punk. He was laughing. I shook him, till his eyes opened and I gazed into his soul. He laughed even harder, “that won’t work with me, I don’t have a soul to reflect.” The punk knew my secret. I let him drop to the ground and walked toward the lady. She looked up at me with a crooked smile, and said, “My boss will be pleased, we learned more about you tonight.”

I walked up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, “Who do you work for?” I said as I shook her furiously. She only laughed, when the sound of gun fire forced me to drop to the ground a second shot came on the heels of the first, followed by the dull plop of the bullet hitting flesh, I looked up to see the tiny hole in her forehead and blood spattered graffiti on the wall behind her. She rested against the wall for a second before her lifeless body slid to the ground.

The punk was starting to get up when another shot echoed in the night and he fell to the ground dead.

I dashed into a shadow and looked for any movement that might give away the shooter. Nothing broke the still of the night. I ran across the parking lot toward the place I thought the shots would have come from. Sirens wailed in the distance and I knew I only had a moment before the place would be crawling with cops. I clicked to the thermal vision on my goggles and scanned the area. In a planter box along the street I saw two faint heat signatures glowing, upon close inspection I could see it was where two casing had fallen onto the dirt and momentarily heated the ground. But only two casings - I heard three shots. One caused me to drop and then one each for the lady and punk. I focused and thought. The first shot had come from the left of where the last two shots came from. I ran in that direction and found an small area built like a park with trees, grass and bushes. I scanned the area but no heat signatures registered. Suddenly a blue glow caught my eye, something below ambient temperature. I went over to it, and there in the grass was the heat impression of a casing, except this impression was cold. I looked at the scale on the side of the display. Minus one hundred degrees, dry ice has a surface temperature of minus one hundred and nine. What was this?

Suddenly my nightly haunts, protecting the innocent from the criminals of this city had become something more. I knew now I was now a target, but a target of who?

I had rattled the criminal element enough that they finally sent someone to find out more about me. I was interested, the nights were becoming much more exciting.

I am the Mirrorman, I look where others fear to gaze.

Flash Fiction #3 - Zombie World meet The Mirrorman

Here is another Flash Fiction piece set in the Zombie world I created. This is a brief introduction to the main character of the series. The Mirrorman, a self appointed vigilante, determined to stop the rising tide of zombies. But when the government handed over a large portion of Los Angeles to the Zombies as their own Homeland, his job became more difficult.

Fighting zombies and a Government bent on appeasing them. The Mirrorman may be humanities last hope.

NathanHawthorne slunk alongside the old factory wall. Trace amounts of the full moon made its way through the broken andweather worn windows, liming him in a strange glow.

Hiscontact should be along any moment. Hewas at the same place where they had met numerous times before, but he waslate. Looking at his watch he wasstartled by how late, over an hour.

Aracket of falling debris stole his concentration and sent him back in thedirection he had just come.

“Marty,”hissed Nathan in a quiet voice, “is that you?”

Noanswer.

“Marty,”Nathan called a little louder.

Noanswer.

“Marty,”the hauntingly low growl, wasn’t Nathan. It could belong only to one thing here in the zone. A zombie.

Nathan’sface lost its color, and he stood in horror, taking automatic steps in retreatfrom the voice.

Whenthe body burst through the door, and came to a stand still directly in front ofNathan, the face was unmistakable - Marty.

“Marty,”said Nathan, “they finally got to you.”

“Itis beautiful,” slurred Marty a dark red mucus hanging from a disjointed jaw.“We are all brothers and sisters.”

Nathanturned to run, the narrow alley between the buildings assaulted him as hecareened between them, frantic to escape.

Thefactory roof was illumined in the full moon glow, a landscape like melted wax,strangely smooth. Squatting on the roofedge was a man in a leather jacket, aviator hat, and strange goggles. The Mirrorman peered down into the canyon offactory walls as a lone human bolted between the buildings. A zombie hastily shambled along behind him,intent on its meal.

“Foolsentering the zone,” hissed the the Mirrorman, “for only one reason.”

Hestood crouched for a moment, his mind caught in a turmoil of indecision.

Thestrange watcher let out a heavy breath before vaulting off the roof, andsliding down a metal pipe like a tilted firefighter. Landing just behind thezombie, he leveled his steam pistol and let loose a slug that took off the headof the zombie.

Theescaping human stopped and turned to see the remains of Marty flopping on theconcrete like a fish out of water.

“Mirrorman,”said Nathan in quiet voice, fear shrouded eyes.

“Thezone isn’t a place for humans,” said the Mirrorman, as he approachedNathan. “What business do you have here?”

Nathanstammered and stuttered, trying to piece together a story he could tell theenigmatic vigilante.

“Theonly reason humans come to the zone are to hunt zombies or trade in Sol, youdon’t look to be a zombie hunter,” explained the Mirrorman.

Nathanstood speechless, standing mute in the presence on the man strong physically and with a will that dominated his crumbling countenance.

“Gohome and don’t come back to the zone.”

Nathanran the short distance to the escape path out of the zone, and with theMirrorman out he had little worries that zombies would be near.

TheMirrorman watched Nathan escape the zone easily. He couldn’t let his brother know he was theMirrorman, but he needed to make it clear he was involved in something thatcould kill him.

Flash Fiction #2 - Iron Packed Glove

Here is another example of my writing.  As promised I'm putting out Flash Fiction, and this one is in the boxing arena, It is about a character of mine named Conall O'Quinn the fighting Grandfather of Mickey O'Quinn.  If you haven't checked out "The O'Quinn Fights" please do so.  Mickey O'Quinn is the main character of those stories, and he is an Mixed Martial Arts fighting Staff Sergeant in the Army.  Well Mickey has a background and the fighting started with his Grandfather Conall.  This is just a short piece, that takes place in the mid 1950's the music was good, the cars were classic, and the fights were fixed.

The punk hit me with a knuckle duster hidden in his glove, just as the bell sounded.

Somehow, I don’t know how, I managed to stumble to my corner of the ring.  I still can’t remember if the bell was going off in the ring, or my head, but either way it was the end of the round.

“Come on shake it off,” said Maddy though a hazy, muggy veil.

“Get your head in the fight,” shouted Maddy as he slapped my face and waved salts under my nose.

I was trying to explain to him the guy had hit me with a loaded glove, I was explaining everything perfectly, and then I realized my mouth wasn’t working.

A sudden whiff of the salts cleared my head like a wildfire going through a forest, it hurt and didn’t leave much in its wake.

I held Maddy’s hand as he come around for another slap.

“He got iron in his gloves,” I slurred through a swelling mouth.

“Why that son of a bitch,” chomped Maddy around the edges of the swabs he held in his mouth.  “I should’ve known it’d take more than a lucky punch to knock you for a loop like that, especially since he didn’t lay that left on your during the whole round.”

“Do you know the ref?” I asked hoping we could plead our case and getting him to check the slime balls gloves.

“Nahh, he’s one of Lima’s boys,” said Maddy. 

Anthony J. Lima, the only crime boss in San Francisco.  He’s never crossed me good-wise or bad, since my fight against Barry, and always treated me with respect, even with the friendly invitation to fight for him.  I always thought I kept my distance from him, and respectfully declined his invitations.  But you don’t know what to expect when your dealing with the likes of a crime boss.

“Is Lima in the crowd?” I asked.

Maddy scanned the crowd quickly,or time between rounds quickly flying away.

“Yea their he is,” said Maddy while jutting his jaw in the direction. “Three rows back.”

I turned my head in his direction an caught his eye just as he was looking in my direction.  He shot me an affable smile and gave me a confident thumbs up.  I wondered if he knew this fix was in or if he hand anything to do with it?

“What about this punk, “Shimmer” Glavenston?” I asked Maddy.  “Is he one of Limas’?”

“I don’t think so the guys out of Mobile,” said Maddy as he went to work on blotting some bloody cuts, and cooling me off.

The bell rang.

I stalked into the ring.

Shimmer, wore a rusty red colored mouthpiece for a smile. 

Arrogant in his stance, quick on his feet, his left hung low from the weight he carried.

I stepped in, using my face to block his right jabs, watching the left.

He started from down low with his left, he needed more strength than usual to get the glove going.

I kept my head in his sights.

His right dropped down quick to lend leverage to his heavily weighted left.

The iron packed glove was inches from my head, when I ducked and let his left slip over my head, and slammed his gut with a hard right before his left finished its arc.

Shimmer’s air came out in a gush.

I hit ‘im hard with a left handed uppercut that pushed his jaw up to his nose, and followed with a quick right cross to his already damaged jaw.

Shimmer’s body hit with a loud plop on the canvas.

The ref counted him out.

I started shouting he had iron in his gloves.

The ref looked toward Lima.

I saw the affable smile and an very slight nod before the ref started cutting the strings from Shimmer’s left glove.

I hope you enjoyed the story, drop me a note and let me know what you think.

Zombie Pecking Order - Flash Fiction #1

I promised you all some Flash Fiction, and here it is. This is a short little piece about the zombie world I created. Presently I have a screenplay finished, and I'm working on some short stories. One day I hope to see thise in a graphic novel. That's a hint to you artists out there.


Los Angeles, huddled dark in the summer heat.

City lights long since gone - no electricity, no lights, no one human left to care.

The big loud engine rumbled to life in the muggy silence, with a lightning crack of thunder forcing its way into the quiet. Bright lights cut the darkness like a star let loose to burn a path through the thick black.

Along streets piled high with trash and ravaged by marauding zombies, the Dodge power wagon prowled.


 “The zombie crusher is on the move my lord,” slurred the shadowed voice.

“Don’t call it that,” came the quick response.

A pasty gray face moved out of the shadow, to be illumed by the stars, dark eyes with unusually black pupils starred in the distance as the vehicle motored along the road like a preying monster of death. Large, and lumbering it stalked like a hunting beast, slowly.

The two zombies that watched the rolling mass, sat shrouded behind a wall of dead and dying plants. The zombie lord his face intact all but an ear that was loss in the early zombie occupation. Mr. Ear, was his name, a name he took since he lost his, ears had become his favorite dish. The other was a shambling zombie that was quickly losing his grip on what little of humanity and thought was left to him. Soon he would be a beast, consumed with an unquenchable hunger, the nothing could sate or deter. At one point the poor victim of a zombies bite had hoped for the change into a lord, but that was not to be, still the former politician followed the zombie lord with absolute devotion - at least for a little longer.

 “I’m sorry my lord,” said the zombie, haltingly - looking from side to side searching for the proper words, “please forgive me.”

Mr. Ear looked at him, with a sinister twitch. His eyes unwittingly moved to look at the untouched ears of the zombie beside him. His lips pursed as the bought of jealousy caused his mouth to water - or maybe he was just hungry.

“Think nothing of it Barny,” said the lord a smile forming on his mouth, “perhaps we will make you a lord yet.”

The twitching zombie, Barry’s face broke into a huge smile. A tooth dropped from his mouth, his gums unable to keep it locked within it’s mouth. “Thank you my Lord. Thank you.”

“Just run down their and kill the mirrorman,” said Mr. Ear casually.

Barny looked from from Mr. Ear to the zombie crusher and back again. Facing the zombie crusher was certain death, but if he could kill the mirrorman, he would be a zombie lord, near immortal. The ravaging affects of being a zombie stopped. And the hunger - the hunger for flesh would be sated. Catered flesh by ones such as he, the mere zombies.

Barny shambled down the embankment toward the zombie crusher, and behemoth of metal and power. He had played sports in a long ago life, he had been a fast runner. The distance - a scant 100 meters shouldn’t take him too long. But his legs didn’t work as well as they used to. His arms didn’t pump as they once did. The frantic gasps of air, sounded like the horrible gurgling of someone drowning. The zombie crusher stopped. He was almost to the door, not only would he kill the mirrorman, but he would feast on his flesh. He would be a lord.

The mirrorman stuck his steam pistol out the window of the zombie crusher and casually shot the lumbering zombie that slowly approached him. The body twitched headlessly on the bloody asphalt. If they every decided to attack en masse he would be in trouble, but so far he was safe.