The Zombie Story The Chronicles of Orlando

The Chronicles of Orlando

  The Zombie Story

  By M.M. Shelley

  *****

  Published by

  Copyright © 2011 by M.M. Shelley

  Books by M.M. Shelley

  Mishap & Mayhem

  Mishap & Chaos

  The Chronicles of Orlando: The Zombie Story

  The Chronicles of Orlando: Dead Relatives

  For previews and more visit www.mmshelley.com

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to any real people or event is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the express consent of the publisher and author; except where permitted by law.

  Cover Art design by Kim Killion: www.hotdamndesigns.com

  Created in the United States of America

  Copyright © 2011 M.M. Shelley

  All rights reserved.

  For my nephews, Anthony, Samuel, Jacob, Andrew & Joshua

 

  Chapter One – The City of Angels

  Orlando had no desire to relocate with his family to of all places, Los Angeles, California. Everything he had heard about the city was that it was filled with crazy people. He had heard, through reliable sources, that in Los Angeles, everyone wanted what was called a ‘magick fix’. You could get it anywhere on the streets of L.A. It was cheap and the high it gave lasted for days. Orlando had heard all of this from his best friend, Jeff and Jeff’s brother, Carl.

  “That town is going to break you,” Jeff said. The look in his eyes showed Orlando all the sympathy in the world. “I think you would be better off moving in here with us. I’m sure my parents won’t mind.”

  Orlando did not consider his offer for even a moment. As much as he really wanted to stay, moving in with his friend was not an option.

  Everyone in the world had magick in one form or another. The ones who had the least amount were known as Novices, most of the population was Novice. Novices had the smallest amount and had no control over when it was used. Most Novices went years without being able to use magick or never being able to use magick at all.

  The ones at the next level were known as Mercurial, they were given the name Mercurial because their magick was never reliable and always unstable, it was never steady and it could be destructive.

  The third level of magick were Wizards, they had learned to control their power and a wizard was someone who’s magick was most strong and consent. There were not many who reached the level of Wizard. It was in fact rare to be a classified Wizard and many doubted the existence of them.

  The steady use of magick over time could make the person go mad from the effects.

  Orlando had not been tested for his levels yet; he had been scheduled many times but had never kept his appointments. He was not good at keeping appointments.

  The reason why Orlando was relocating with his family was because both of his parents had found jobs in Los Angeles. The economy had “crashed” so they had to take what they could find. Orlando’s grandfather was going to move with them. His grandfather was a bit, ‘off his rocker.’ Whenever he started talking about any subject, he would never stop to take a breather.

  At their old place, his grandfather had the room next to his and every other night he kept his television blasting at an ear-splitting volume. The walls that they shared would vibrate from the sound. Even if Orlando told his grandfather to keep it down, he would just be ignored. His grandfather didn’t care; he wasn’t the one who had to get up early the next morning to get to school on time.

  That was another thing. It was his last year of high school. He was seventeen years old. He would now have to set himself up at a brand new school, learn the hierarchy and keep a low profile until he got himself situated. He was not looking forward to that at all.

  Did his parents care about all this? Nope. Not only were they all relocating, but they were driving all the way from Oklahoma to Los Angeles. And Orlando was stuck in the back seat with grandpa, who either wasn’t aware or didn’t care that he was kind of gassy. Orlando had to keep the window down to let air in.

  When they finally drove up to their new house it looked decent enough. It was a two story building. The upstairs window had a long crack in the window pane. There was no grass in the front yard and the driveway looked like a grenade had been dropped in the middle of it, there was so much rubble; but Orlando had expected a lot worse.

  His parents and his grandfather remained in the car looking at their new surroundings. Orlando exited the car with his red backpack in hand. He stopped at his father’s window which had been rolled down to ask, “Are you guys coming?” Orlando was anxious to get inside and pick out a bedroom before his grandfather laid claim.

  Slowly the rest of his family followed Orlando up the front steps of the house.

  When his mom unlocked the front door with a key the realtor had sent them, Orlando made sure that he was the first one inside. He brushed by her. It didn’t take him long to pick out a bedroom. He liked the one at the end of the long upstairs hallway. He walked in and quickly shut the door behind him, lest his grandfather get any ideas about trying to claim this room as his own.

  His bedroom had windows which overlooked the front yard. The movers, who had all their stuff, were expected the next day, so the room stood empty. His window was the one that had the crack in it. Dumping his backpack on the ground he walked towards the window.

  The neighborhood was very quiet. No one was outside. No one, he guessed, cared about who had moved into the empty house.

  A knock sounded on his bedroom door. After he called out, Orlando’s mom Karen entered and stood in the doorway of his new bedroom with his sleeping bag in her hands. “This isn’t so bad; we can fix that window up real easily.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He said not very enthusiastically.

  “Do you want to sleep in here? I brought you your sleeping bag.” She held it out to him.

  “Yeah, sure,” he was still mad at his parents for making him move to Los Angeles. He didn’t want his mom to think that anything had changed.

  The next morning Orlando was home alone as he didn’t have to start school for a few more days. His parents had left early to go to work. His grandfather had gone down the street to buy a new window for Orlando’s bedroom.

  Orlando was out in the backyard. He was picking up junk that had been piled up there by the previous tenants. He had his headphones on and was listening to music. He needed to get more trash bags from the garage, and so he was making his way down the side of the house, when he saw two men out in the middle of the street. One had a gun; the other was on the ground. Orlando removed his headphones so that he could hear what they were saying.

  He could hear them arguing. The man with the gun held it pointed at the other’s chest.

  “Please! Don’t!” The man on the ground cried, he was a bit scraggly looking and unkempt. He was visibly shaking as he covered his head with both of his arms believing it would ward off the assailant.

  Orlando scanned the block; there was no one else out to watch the drama unfolding before him. He crouched down against the house trying to keep out of sight.

  The man with the gun began laughing, before taking aim and firing the gun. He fired at the scraggly man twice. The gunshots echoed throughout the quiet street.

  The blood oozing from the scraggly man nearly made Orlando vomit.

  Orlando hurriedly backed up from his hiding place tripping over his own fe
et. Fearing that he had made too much noise and that the man with the gun must have heard him, Orlando jumped to his feet. As he ran into the backyard he checked over his shoulder multiple times to see if the man was chasing him. Once inside the house he locked the sliding door behind him and called the police from his cell phone. He was anxious as he waited for the operator to come on the line. “What is your emergency?” The operator calmly asked.

  “A guy’s been shot!” Orlando had not meant to shout. He dropped the phone disconnecting the call. He felt that at any moment the gunman would be firing at his door to get at him. The gunman might even be climbing in through a window.

  Orlando had to find a place to hide until the police showed up. Every single place he thought of seemed too obvious. He hurried from room to room as he looked for a hiding place. The movers had not yet arrived and Orlando didn’t have many options.

  The sounds of the police sirens alerted Orlando that the big guns had arrived. It took Orlando a while to work up the nerve to answer his door at the constant banging.

  When he did he found a stocky policeman at his door, “We had a report of gunfire.” he said very matter of factly.

  Orlando looked past the policeman’s shoulder. Didn’t they see the body out in the street? “Yeah, I called. There was a shooting.”

  “Where was this shooting?” The policeman asked mildly curious.

  “He was out there.” Orlando said, as he wondered what was with all the questions.

  “Will you please step outside, sir?” The policema’sn expression quickly turned to irritation.

  Orlando did, a bit hesitantly. As he cautiously followed the officer outside, he suddenly froze in utter disbelief. There was no body lying out in the street. There was no blood. There was absolutely nothing. Orlando walked past the policeman to the exact spot where he had seen the shooting happen. Standing in the middle of the street, he looked down at his feet asking himself, ‘What the hell just happened?’

  Orlando stood gazing down at his feet. The officer cleared his throat, bringing Orlando’s attention back to him.

  “Look kid, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but do not waste the time and expense of our Police Department with false reports.”

  Orlando didn’t know how to respond. He had seen one guy shoot another guy right here on this spot. He hadn’t made it up. As luck would have it, that the movers arrived at the same moment that his grandfather arrived back from the hardware store. The officer wasted no time telling his grandfather the reason for his visit.

  Orlando didn’t want to hear it. He went back inside and up the stairs to his room. He had to wait for the movers to unload the truck. He paced back and forth in his bedroom replaying what he witnessed over and over in his head. Looking out the cracked window pane he watched the police officer drive away. He didn’t see his grandfather.

  He could hear the movers downstairs unloading the furniture. He could hear them speaking– their voices muffled through his closed door. It took them an hour before they got to his room. Orlando didn’t have much so it didn’t take them too long. He stood to the side with his arms folded glaring at them. Quietly urging them to hurry up and get out. Once they filed out he slammed the door.

  Upon slamming his door, he shot a look at his radio and it immediately turned on, the volume blasting. Falling backwards on his bed, he waited for his grandfather to bang on his door to find out what all that was about with the police. His grandfather didn’t come and Orlando didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until his parents arrived home from work that night that he heard his grandfather’s voice. His mother didn’t waste any time ripping into Orlando.

  “Is this because you’re not happy about the move? You make things up to try to force us to leave? I got news for you; that’s not going to happen! So deal with it!” His mother continued ranting at him for some time.

  His mother had never been this angry with him before. He didn’t say anything. He just lay on his bed staring at the wall. His lack of response only infuriated his mother more. Apparently, tired of yelling over the sound of his radio, she tried turning it off with a glare but it didn’t work. Frustrated, she left him alone in his bedroom. Orlando heard her storm down the stairs.

  Later that night Orlando woke from a deep sleep to the sounds of his grandfather’s television. He waited for one of his parents to go downstairs to tell him to turn it down, but he didn’t hear them. Tired, Orlando got up to do it himself. Standing at the top of the stairs, he noticed that the lights were off. It was dark. With one glance of his eyes, the light switch turned on.

  “Grandpa?” he said as he hurried down the stairs. Approaching the closed door he called again, a little louder, “Grandpa!”

  It was then that he heard the voices on the other side of the door. He thought nothing of it. Believing it was just the sounds from the TV, Orlando pushed the door open. His grandfather was not alone. The TV was on; it was intended to drown out their voices. Sitting across from his grandfather was an old looking man whose gaze landed on Orlando.

  “Did we wake you?” The old man asked.

  “What do you think? Orlando asked annoyed.

  Paying no attention to his grandson’s rough voice Orlando’s grandfather introduced him, “This is my grandson.”

  “I see,” he looked at Orlando curiously.

  “Grandpa what’s with the TV? It woke me up.” Irritated Orlando shut the TV off with one harsh look.

  The old man sat up in amazement, “Can he do this all the time, at will?” he asked Orlando’s grandfather.

  “No,” he replied. Giving it some thought he added, “Only when he’s in a foul mood or has low blood sugar. Which is all of the time these days.”

  Looking back at Orlando the old man said, “You got a temper.”

  “No, I don’t.” Orlando wasn’t going to stay for this. He was going to go back upstairs and try to get some sleep.

  The old man kept him from leaving by saying, “I know about what happened out there in front of your house; what you saw.”

  Orlando halted by the door, without turning back he asked,” You do?”

  “Yes, your grandfather told me. Which is why I’m here, I came to talk to you.”

  “Are you a cop?” he asked as he turned back expectantly.

  “Not the kind with a badge.”

  “Then what kind are you?”

  Orlando had not noticed before, but leaning next to the chair was a wicked looking sword with a green handle and a silver blade.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Orlando asked not at all amused.

  “This is no joke. This is a serious weapon.” The old man took up his sword.

  Orlando’s grandfather spoke up, adding, “This here is my old friend, Maxwell. We used to hunt Zombies together.”

  “What? Zombies! Have you been smoking grandpa?” Orlando didn’t smell smoke but maybe the old man had started getting those magick fixes he had heard about.

  “We thought we had seen the last of them. But something’s happened. They are here again.” His grandfather replied.

  Maxwell placed his sword back down, “The zombies are rising. I’ve come to begin your training. Train you in what you need to know.”

  Orlando didn’t know what they were talking about, “I’m going back to bed. See you in the morning, grandpa.”

  “Orlando, wait.” He did. “It’s your turn now. No one else can do this but you.”

  “Do what? What do you want me to do?” asked Orlando sounding like he was becoming increasingly irritated.

  His grandfather stood, stretching himself to his full height, “You must become the next zombie hunter.”

  “And,” Maxwell added, “You must begin your training before their numbers begin to rise even more.”

  Orlando stood there looking at them as if they’d lost their minds, “A zombie hunter?”

  Chapter Two - The Motorcycle
r />   The next morning as Orlando opened his bedroom door to head downstairs for breakfast, he found the sword that Maxwell had held the night before. It stood standing in place before him. The sword was unsheathed; the blade tip rested upon the wooden floor; it did not pierce the floorboards.

  Orlando closed his bedroom door, waited a moment, ran his hand through his dark hair and opened the door once more. Yes, the sword was still there. He had not imagined it. What it was doing there, he did not know. Reaching out for it, he took the green handle into his left hand, he examined it closely.

  What was he suppose to do with this? Hunt zombies? And just how was he supposed to go about doing that? Tossing the sword onto his bed, he headed downstairs for breakfast.

  He found his mother downstairs gathering her purse and car keys, she was about to head out the door to go to work. “You start school tomorrow,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah,” he said as he opened the fridge.

  “I know you weren’t looking forward to moving out here, but I think we might be able to change that.”

  His mother had his full attention. He closed the door to the refrigerator. “Yeah,” he responded. “How is that?”

  “Look out the window,” she replied, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter.

  Outside parked on the rubble of the driveway was a rustic car. It looked like it had seen better days.

  Orlando put two and two together fairly quickly. Frowning he asked, “Seriously?”

  “I know it’s not much, but you can work on it and make something better out of it.”

  “Make it into what, an actual car?”

  “A ‘Thank You’ would have been nice.”

  “Thanks,” he said as he opened the refrigerator.

  “Your grandfather will take you out to the junkyard for some parts later today.”

  “Thanks,” he said again in a tone that clearly did not convey any sort of gratitude.

  His mother gave him a frown before leaving him in the kitchen.

  The junkyard was more than what Orlando expected. He left his grandfather talking to the guy who ran the place and headed out on his own. With his earphones on, he wandered the aisles, not any paying any attention to where he was going. It was then that he noticed something set in the far back corner behind a group of boxes.