Last year I wrote an exclusive book for the readers on my mailing list. It's the epic story of Robert Briggs as he battles through Planet Dead with his son and his brother. It's a whole new year and I've decided to clean this story up and release it for sale. It should be out in a few weeks, I'll be sure to let you know. For now, you can read the first chapter right here.
I give to you, The Briggs Boys!
I hope you enjoy.
~Sylvester
A splatter of blood found its way onto the only family photo Mama Briggs had of her boys and the girl. The Girl was a very disrespectful nickname for her daughter-in-law, but Mama Briggs was seventy-five years old and had no plans of undergoing any changes, anytime soon. However, it's always been a commonly known fact in the Briggs household, that fate never sticks to the plans you make.
"Give me the fucking gun, Pete!" Robert shouted. A head came tumbling across his black boots. Not even a second later, Robert’s steel toe boot caved in the chest of the headless zombie, who was once Mama Briggs’ favorite doctor, who oddly enough in 2019, still made late-night house calls. The blood spurting corpse was sent flying into a nearby wall. Robert's deep, umber, brown hand tightened around the wooden handle of his hatchet; with his free hand, he started pounding on the hallway closet.
"No! I don’t want any part of this!” Peter shouted. His hands tightly held the metal doorknob from inside the closet. This was an event that occurred in the Briggs household, many times throughout Peter and Robert’s childhood. Peter would cause some kind of a mess and hide away from it all, surrounded by the claustrophobic walls of the linen closet. All the while his older brother, Robert, would be cursing and threatening Peter with bodily harm from the outside. The only difference between then and now was they weren’t boys anymore. Robert had a family of his own with The Girl. Also, one notable difference was, the event that led to this new closet encounter, had nothing to do with Peter. The world was falling apart due to an unknown virus that was turning people into rabid killers...better known as zombies.
"Pete, I'm not fucking playing with you! You tell me where that gun is or I'll crack your fucking head open like an egg!" Robert shouted before sending a strong kick into the door that caused Peter to tumble into the towels, knocking them all over.
"Listen, I know you have some built up issues," Peter said softly. "Yeah, she did love me more. And yeah, we forget your ninth birthday, but to be fair, you didn't have any friends." Peter said.
Robert rolled his eyes and took a step back from the closet door, "What the hell are you going on about?" Robert asked. Peter's ear pressed up against the door; he could hear Robert's footsteps along the wooden hallway. The closet door opened slowly. Only far enough for Peter to get a peek at his brother, who was walking toward Mama Briggs' locked bedroom door. The closet door flung open. Peter leaped in front of Robert, placing himself between his brother and his Mama.
"I'm talking about this hate you've built up against her for years now! You think people don't see it..." Peter said he waved his index finger from side to side in Robert's face, "But oh boy, do we see it. You couldn't act your way out of a paper bag, big brother." Peter said. His hazel eyes glared at Robert, "You can't fight hate with hate." Peter whispered. Peter and Robert stood silently in a brotherly stare down until Robert lifted up his hatchet, placing the bloody blade in the middle of their faces and causing Peter's eyes to break away.
"Pete, I love you. With all my heart. Why I don’t know.” Robert said and then sighed, “But, it’s the only reason I'm giving you this chance." Robert smiled, "Move or I'll be burying two bodies tonight." Peter’s hands slowly went up and he cautiously stepped aside.
"Well when you put it that way, how could I argue?" Peter said. Robert's fingers wrapped around the doorknob. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what was about to go down. It wasn't often a son had to drive a blade into his mother's skull. Something like that would certainly create a whole new form of PTSD in the former soldier. Robert closed his eyes, but then, a loud bang was heard causing them to jolt back open.
"What the hell was that?" Robert asked. It was a foolish question, he knew that bang. That bang used to be his best friend and worst enemy. It was a warning alarm, letting him know that shit was hitting the fan and that Robert had to go into fighting mode. That bang was a gunshot, Robert knew that in his soul. His eyes searched for Peter, but he was nowhere to be found. "Pete?" Robert said softly.
The closet door opened and Peter's head poked out, "What?" Peter asked. There was an annoyed and puzzled look on Peter’s face as he stared at Robert. Peter wasn't the smartest person in the world, nor was he the strongest, in fact, the man had a list full of flaws that started with: dropping out of college and ended with living with his mother. Although even with those flaws Peter had one thing going for him, the man was fast. Which was beneficial in a world full of zombies and for living a long cowardly life.
"What are you doing in there?” Robert asked.
Peter rolled his eyes, "I'm counting the towels. We got ten!” Peter hissed, “What you think I'm doing?" Robert took a step toward the closet and Peter quickly pulled the door closed.
"Get out of there, right now!" Robert sternly replied.
Peter shook his head, "No! Not everyone can play Paul Bunyan swinging an axe and shit." Peter said.
Robert sighed and put his hand on the closet door, "Listen, you can have the hatchet, just tell me where the gun is." Robert said softly.
"Umm, let me think about that. How about, no!" Peter shouted. Robert sent his steel toe flying, cracking the white wooden door.
"Sometimes you can be a little bitch, you know that?" Robert replied.
"I know that and I’m fine with it. Because this little bitch will live to carry on the Briggs family name. Now get to getting and find out what the hell is going on." Peter said. Robert looked at the closet door and found himself questioning why he ever asked Santa for a little brother; he would have been better off with a bike or a loyal puppy. Robert's shoulder dragged along on the wall. His body hugged the wallpaper, while he got closer to the corner. Robert could hear the smooth baseline of his heartbeat, dancing along with his calming breaths. It was a sad thing to say, but once again, Robert was at a point in his life where he was getting used to facing off with death. His fingers crept along the wall. They got closer to the edge. This was it. The last dim lightbulb of the living room ceiling fan created shadows all throughout the area. Robert listened to the shuffling. The hatchet slowly rose. Then Robert shot around the corner into the living room.
The bloodstained blade came down half an inch before he heard, "What the fuck, Dad!" Jordan screamed. The short, nappy haired boy was on the floor with his left hand raised to block the attack. What good his soft brown skin would have been against the blood-stained blade was a question his father would never ask.
"Watch your mouth, and what the hell are you doing out here? I told you to stay in the bathroom!" Robert shouted. Jordan got to his feet and started dusting himself off. As his hands ran down his Black Panther tee-shirt, Robert noticed the black handle sticking out from Jordan’s waistband.
"I heard shouting," Jordan answered.
"What are you doing with that?” Robert asked, and pointed the hatchet blade at the gun that bulged from Jordan's hip. The boy raised an eyebrow at the question, he wasn't sure if it was the tone or the overall air of stupidity surrounding it; however, something about it seemed to irritate, the hell out of Jordan. He pulled out the gun quickly. The barrel seemed to nonchalantly point towards his father's lower body.
"I found it, under the sink. It's for protection." Jordan said. Robert watched as his son did his best to walk past him with his new metal companion. Yet, Robert's hand shot out blocking Jordan's escape. Robert closed his eyes and tried to remember a time when his son’s answer wasn't so easily expected. Fighting wasn't new to Robert. He had been doing it all his life. From protecting Peter on the playground to protecting the nation overseas. Fighting came all too natural to both him and The Girl. But, no matter how normal it was for them, Robert didn't want it to be the norm for Jordan.
"You don't need protection. Not when you got me, little man.” Robert said. He looked down at Jordan and smiled, "Because Pops is a what?" Jordan's eyes rolled, he didn't feel like partaking in any cute little guessing games. Not only was he no longer five but there was no longer anything remotely cute about this new era of life. "Come on, Pops is a what?" Robert said softly, their hazel eyes locked and Jordan let out a light sigh.
"A super soldier," Jordan said softly. Robert laughed and nodded as he held out his hand,
"The best damn one there is, now let me have that gun. " Robert said.
"If you're that good, then why couldn't you save mom?" Jordan replied, and he placed the handle of the gun into his father's open palm. It was the event that turned the whole family upside down. An event that sent a man running home to his mother and left a boy internally longing to do the same.
* * *
Twas the day of the outbreak. Reports of crazed people running wild throughout the state was all over the television. The news chopper had a clear shot of a bumper to bumper freeway, which wasn't all that new in the Gwinnett area, but this time people weren't just sitting and honking their horns. They were abandoning their cars and running for their lives. Fires could be seen. Screams could be heard and like a broken bloody wave, the camera showed a mass of infected, speeding through the gaps in the cars. The phone rang and Robert answered before a second ring got a chance to be heard.
"Catherine!" Robert shouted frantically into the phone.
"Babe, shit is fucking crazy, right now,” Catherine said.
"That's an understatement. Please tell me you're right down the street." Robert said.
"Yeah, I'm at the light," Catherine said softly. Robert closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face. They had been married for eight years, and in that time they learned closed to everything about one another. Catherine knew about Robert’s addiction to caramel popcorn, that caused him to start a minor fire in the kitchen one July night, and Robert knew that Catherine was a shitty liar.
"You're on the highway aren't you?" Robert asked.
"Yeaaah," Catherine said.
"Cat, what the hell!" Robert shouted.
"Don't fucking yell at me! I'm sorry, had I known ahead of time that the world was gonna fall apart, I would have left work sooner!“ Catherine shouted.
"I'm coming to get you," Robert said. He knew how it sounded, like some knight in brightly polished male ego armor, looking to save his woman from the dragon's claws. Robert was impulsive. If something needed to be done, it got done right then and there. Catherine was the brains behind the family, she looked at every angle of a problem and Robert knew from her deep sigh, that his response wasn't the answer to their current dilemma.
"Yeah, you're not doing that. I'll be home in time for dinner. Then we can figure out what we're gonna do." She said softly.
"Catherine-" Robert's words were cut short by Catherine’s laughter.
"We've seen worse than this overseas. Don't punk out on me now, Briggs." She said softly. Catherine had three deployments under her belt and they weren't any cake walks, but the enemy at the time, also weren’t hordes of infected people with one unified goal of eating anyone and everyone they came across. She didn't want to admit it and knowing her she never would, but she was scared. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be babe," Catherine said softly.
Robert closed his eyes and dropped back onto the couch, "So, what do you want me to do? Just sit and wait?" Robert asked.
"No, I'd tell you to pack but I'd end up repacking anyway, so just get dinner together and-" This time it was Catherine who was cut off, but sweet laughter wasn't the cause of her abrupt pause. Robert could hear screams coming from the receiver, he shot up to his feet.
"Catherine!" He shouted.
"Fuck!" Catherine shouted and like that the call ended. Robert was left staring dumbfounded at the cell phone in his hand. When he turned around, Jordan was standing at the bottom of the staircase.
"Is mom alright?" Jordan asked softly.
* * *
The chamber of the gun flipped open and Robert stared at the six bullets for a moment. The gun only held six so that loud blast couldn't have been Jordan. Robert's eyes gazed upon his son and the two stared each other down. There was no real way to answer that question and Jordan knew that. It was far from fair to place all that blame on his father's shoulders, but he didn’t care. Jordan needed someone or something to blame because he couldn’t understand how his mother could be there one minute and gone the next. If Jordan was honest, he didn’t believe it. Robert watched Jordan disappear down the hallway. He flipped the handgun closed and then tucked it in the front of his pants. Jordan asked that question every now and then, just as a way to take a jab at his father, but Robert asked himself that same question every waking moment.
"Oh, Uncle Peter! Guess what your favorite nephew found." Robert sang.
Peter pounded his head into the door slightly, "Damn," he said to himself. "I don't have favorites, it's not fair to the others!" Peter shouted. Jordan pulled open the closet door and Peter waved with a smile, "Hey, Jay-Dog. How’s life treating you?" Jordan shook his head and waited as his father came up behind them. Peter put his hand out and rubbed the boy's head. "You know you're my favorite nephew, I was just playing." However, by then Jordan wasn’t even looking at Peter.
Jordan’s focus was on Mama Briggs' bedroom door as he said,"I'm your only nephew." Peter nodded and smiled.
"And that's why you're my favorite.” He said. The handle of the hatchet appeared in front of Peter. He looked at it and closed his eyes. His hand took hold of the bloody weapon. "So, we're really doing this?" Peter asked. Robert watched his younger brother's arms fall to his side and his head lower to the floor. It was the most pathetic and most defeated Robert had ever seen him.
"Don't be like that. It has to be done and this is the fastest way." Robert said.
"I know that, but it doesn't make it any easier," Peter said. Robert put his hand on the back of his brother's neck and pulled him in until they were head to head.
“Father, please forgive us for what we're about to do,” Robert said softly and Peter nodded, adding to their spiritual talk with their maker.
"And if one of us must go to the bad place for this great sin. Just remember who's idea this was, lord." Peter said and then he felt a slap on the back of his head.
"Amen.” The trio said in unison. Robert turned the key and doorknob at the same time. He cautiously pushed open the door to Mama Briggs' room.
"She's already dead boys, just keep telling yourself that," Robert said. Peter's hand went over Jordan's eyes and he closed his own. He waited for the loud bang, but moments kept passing by and nothing was heard. Robert looked around the room and turned toward the doorway, "Where is she, Peter?"
Peter opened his eyes and looked around the empty bedroom, "How should I know? You locked her in here, Mr. Zoo Keeper.” Peter said. Robert nodded and pushed his brother into a nearby wall.
"Yeah and now she's gone. So either Ma is zombie Houdini or someone let her out." Robert said. Peter slapped Robert's hand away and looked over at the bloody sheets that covered his mother's bed.
"Or, maybe she got better and-" Peter's words were cut short by Robert grabbing him by the collar. The world was divided into two different camps when it came to the infected. One theory is that they're sick and that the illness can be cured. These people believe that the government and scientists are held up in some bunker, trying to save the world. These people will do anything not to kill a zombie, or as they call them, a loved one. This is purely out of fear of killing them before the cure arises.
Then there are the people in the second camp, "And what! And what Peter? Maybe she got better and went to bake some fucking cookies?" Robert shouted into his brother's face. Peter's glare went down to his big brother's hands.
"You ain't gonna keep putting your hands on me like that. Okay, bro bro." Peter said softly. The two stared at one another and Robert gave Peter one more push into the wall before he released his little brother. Peter tugged at his collar and rolled his eyes, "You don't know everything. She could have gotten better" Peter said. "She's our mother for God's sake.”
"I know, who the hell she is!” Robert shouted.
"Do you? Because ever since she got bit, you've been eyeballing her like she's a fucking bottle for target practice!" Peter shouted.
"Sorry that I'm worried about my family,” Robert said. Peter stood there staring at his brother and then he laughed and nodded.
"I guess Ma and I don't make that list anymore, huh?" Peter asked and then he shook his head, "Listen, I'm sorry about Catherine but that doesn't make you a fucking doc-" Peter's words were cut short by a quick jab into his mouth. He toppled over and landed on the bloodstained bed.
"Don't you ever talk about her, like you know how it fucking feels. The only person you've ever cared about was your damn self." Robert said. Peter’s hand went up to his lips. His fingertips pressed against the stinging pain and then slowly came back with bright red droplets covering them. Robert stood ready for retaliation; his fist was balled up. His feet were planted and his glare didn't break from his brother. Like always Robert was ready for a war, but instead of the enemy taking up arms for battle, Peter sat up on the bed and shook his head.
"I'm done," Peter said.
"What the are you talking about?" Robert asked.
"I'm fucking done! With you and all this shit! Everything has to be your way…” Peter said and stood up slowly, he walked back over to his brother. His lip stung with each word. Peter's hand came up and he rubbed his jaw as he said, “or the fucking highway. I guess I should’ve taken the highway a long time ago.”
"She didn't get better, Peter. This isn't the kind of thing you can get better from." Robert said. While they were doing their little song and dance, Jordan's eyes were focused on the events that were going on outside the window. The complex, originally known as, The Grove, before the gated community was upgraded with homemade guard towers, was normally a quiet, peaceful and to be honest, a boring place. That wasn't the case this morning. Dr. Jones was bitten, turned and quickly decapitated, Mama Briggs was missing and now the neighbors were piling into the street.
"She's our mother. She's Susie Homemaker. Ms. Thanksgiving dinners. She's-" Peter was caught off guard by Jordan's hand shooting up and pointing at the window.
"She's at the window!" Jordan screamed. The Briggs brothers eyes shot toward the window. Peter's golden brown skin quickly started to get pale. A twisted and broken old woman was glaring at him. Peter's eyes got wide; what was once his mother opened up her mouth to show a bloody set of jagged teeth.
Peter's hand shot out and he grabbed hold of Robert's shirt as he shouted, "What the hell are you waiting for? Shoot the bitch!"
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