Tales from The Uprising
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About this ebook
Explore the horrific future of the living dead in these tales set in the world of Christopher Newman's UPRISING. This collection of seven ghoulish tales of terror will walk you with the living and the dead, from the very beginning of the Zombie Uprising to the end.
Christopher Newman
Chris Newman lives in northeast Ohio. A life-long fan of Robert E. Howard, Richard Matheson, and Stephen King the bookshelves at the Newman residence run the gambit from erotica to horror to spirituality to humor. In fact, Chris hopes one day to inherit a library (or a castle with a library, that'd be nice!). Surrounding his eclectic library is his collection of medieval weaponry, helms, and shields. Woe be to the foolish mortal who tries to invade the Newman home.
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Tales from The Uprising - Christopher Newman
Tales From the Uprising
By
Christopher Newman
Tales From the Uprising Copyright © 2009 by Christopher C. Newman, All rights reserved.
Tales from the Uprising Cover Art © 2009 Persephone’s Pomegranate
All rights reserved. Except for use in promotional review, the reproduction or use of this work in
whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, by technologies now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Dark Roast Press, Calumet City, IL, 60409.
The story is fictional. Names, places and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book & did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Darkroastpress.com & purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
TALES FROM THE UPRISING
Contents
The Perils of Journalism
Plots and Plans
Vengeance Bites
Oh Shit… the Dog!
Bath Time
911, Can I Help You?
One Shot Barney
Excerpt from UPRISING
The Perils of Journalism
Tina Benedict shivered in the cold breeze and watched past the sliding side door of the white van with the bold WCGS logo on it as her cameraman Cliff glanced over his equipment inside. Employed at the TV station now for eight years, the journalist was leaning against the vehicle puffing on a cigarette while she waited for him to finish up with checking his video camera, battery level, and other assorted gear. Billie Madison, the sound engineer, was doing the same thing to her equipment. Tina’s loosely coiled brown hair with honey-hued highlights blew a little in the stiff, cold breeze and the vapor trail from her Virginia Slim rushed past the right side of her almond-shaped face. Her hazel eyes darted a quick glance at the crowd across the street from where they were parked, only to frown at the rowdy mob chanting slogans and carrying signs. They were making themselves a general nuisance to the National Guard soldiers and those trying to get in to work at the factory.
Looks like those old video clips from the sixties, the disgruntled reporter commented to herself, shivering from the northern temperature. I wonder if this will only be another boring assignment, the same old interviews of angry anti-RWC fanatics, disgusted employees, smiling politicians, and tense cops.
She and her crew had arrived late last night from Atlanta, Georgia to cover the recent troubles here in Ohio’s Mahoning County. Cliff, Billie, and Tina had practically driven all day and night to get here in time. Now, running on just a few hours sleep, their job was to report on the protesting members of ICARE and the residents they had stirred up with their doctrines and opinions. She wondered if this trip had been all for nothing, since there were about a dozen other reporters and their flunkies already on the spot.
Tina looked over to see the huge dark building that must run for three city blocks, the site of the Northeast Ohio RWC Factory. Its sprawl still reflected the original purpose that it had been constructed for, the manufacturing of steel. However the signs warning off trespassers and the razor wire topping the fence spoke of tighter security than the mill probably had ever seen in its heyday.
What’s a nice brown girl like you doing in a dump like this? she queried herself silently. At least I’ll get a byline for this story and hopefully a raise.
Tina had worked long and hard to get to where she was now. Jobs weren’t scarce, but the clamping down of the government on RWC manufacturing had made it difficult to get a good, juicy story out of those employed there. The fear of being fired shone in their eyes. Then there were the gag orders signed by the various employees and their general suspicion of the media making it impossible for her fellow journalist to crack their resolve. Uncovering the true horror story on the processing of the undead working class known as the RWCs was curtailed and damned near unfeasible.
Mister and Missus America could care less anyway, Tina groused silently. Most are so caught up with materialism and consumerism that they don’t even notice anything wrong. They go about fulfilling their needs while red masked corpses bag their groceries, shove snow off the highways, rake leaves, or pick up trash in the parks. Most folks just flat out don’t care.
In this post-Outbreak world it was the dream of many of her colleagues to crack open a big juicy story on the RWCs, and make a name for themselves in the process. She herself openly admired TV talk show host Deshaun Blakemore, who had gotten both famous and rich by exposing the wild sex parties of a North Carolina congresswoman and her inner circle of deviant friends. But that scandal, unrelated to the RWC protests, had caused a seeming evaporation of scandals, or just the better hiding of political corruption. Things were to the point that even the members of the media in Washington D.C. were scrambling around like starving squirrels looking for nuts during early snow fall.
Only the arguing in the Senate seems to have focused any interest on RWCs of late, she told herself, crushing out her smoke. I wonder if it will turn out to be anything more than that, just endless talk and debate?
The Purcell Incident had been big news a few months ago in Oklahoma, but a government cover-up had been quickly enforced. And that concocted fairy tale, evident to those in the know as a fable, was still officially as solid and impenetrable as those two ironclad ships during the War Between the States.
We’re ready, Tina,
Billie the skinny blonde from Texarkana informed her in that lilting Southern accent of hers.Just give the word and we’ll roll.
Follow me then,
she replied in a bored tone.
Where we goin’?
Cliff asked. As if on cue, a dark brown wrapper fluttered out of his right hand, to be whisked off by the sharp breeze coursing down the four lane highway. Ignoring his littering, he greedily dined on its former contents. The chubby, constantly eating cameraman seemed to have an endless supply of Snicker bars hidden away in the folds of his clothes. He gazed about for a good place to set up the ideal shot. He was a perfectionist about that, not that Tina minded.
Not too close to that gate; it’s awfully tense there and I don’t want to get caught in a crossfire between that mob and the National Guard,
Tina suggested.
How about right under that sign?
he supplied with a grin, pointing just across the highway.
Tina smiled at the yellow and black warning sign that stated, No Trespassing! Violators will be subject to immediate arrest and prosecution.
Works for me. Let’s get a move on.
The trio walked quickly across the four lane thoroughfare and moved about fifty yards away from the van.
Stand underneath that—perfect!
Cliff exclaimed while she moved into position.
I’m set, whenever you’re ready,
Billie remarked. She thrust the microphone into Tina’s hand and bent down to fiddle with the controls.
"Good morning, this is Tina Benedict for Channel Six Eyewitness News. I am standing in front of the Northeast Ohio RWC Factory here in Youngstown, Ohio, where a group of ICARE protestors are apparently ready to clash with local authorities. This is the fifth day the protest group has been at the front gates. Organizers have told the press that their presence is due to a recent containment spill that cost at least twenty people their lives just last week. They are demanding that the facility be immediately shut down due to obvious safety concerns.
Authorities have stepped up efforts to maintain security and peace for both the protestors and the people who are employed here. Behind me, in that massive structure is where the undead are taken to be processed and tagged for sale to both individual consumers and companies. We will hope to be interviewing all sides of this heated debate and report back the facts as only Channel Six can.
Cut!
Cliff sang out. Tina relaxed her face out of the false smile she had thrown on as the camera had started rolling.
Do you want another one?
she asked.
No, that was a good one; let’s move on to the interviews,
he answered, swiveling his head to take in the sights and sounds of the mob off to his right. Tina groaned inwardly, dreading what was to come next
Oh boy, it’s time to talk to the crazies.
***
The woman had been talking at a fever pitch for twenty-five seconds before Tina began tuning her out in her mind. The past five minutes of ignoring the protester was a record in her book when it came to dealing with fanatics of any sort.
… those people inside have no idea how dangerous it is! They lost control last week and many of them were killed by the very things they were attempting to domesticate!
the wild-eyed activist said strongly.Those poor creatures are in slavery! Slavery, do you hear me? Is it any wonder why they fight so hard to not be made into RWCs?!This abomination cannot go on any longer and we the American people must stand up for the rights of those who cannot stand up for themselves…
So you believe that the reanimated dead should be granted rights, Miss Jacoby?
Tina asked, interrupting the zealous young woman’s tirade. Facing into the camera, she tried to look like she cared what the answer to her question might be.
"Yes! This isn’t like before! We’re not asking for them to be given all the rights and privileges of regular folks! They should be given the dignity of a