Rise of the Mudmen

By James FW Thompson

Alex used to believe that bad things didn’t happen on sunny days...but now he knows better.

On an otherwise normal October day, Alex’s neighbourhood becomes a place of horror.  Missing parents, a chaotic evacuation, and a school in flames are only the beginning of a nightmarish world overrun by bloodthirsty creatures—creatures who were once family, friends and neighbours.

Thrown together by chance and with no adults coming to their rescue, Alex, Nicole, David, and  Kaitlyn must rely on themselves and each other to survive. As they struggle to defend themselves and their younger companions, create a safe haven, and learn to work together, they discover that there is more than one kind of enemy...and that sometimes the worst ones come from within.

Set in Cape Breton in 1986, Rise of the Mudmen will take you back to a time that never was.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Third Person Press
• Release date: Oct 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9780993632556

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RISE OF THE MUDMEN

a novel by

JAMES FW THOMPSON

First Published in 2017

Copyright © 2017 by James FW Thompson

Cover Artwork © 2017 by Nancy S.M. Waldman

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission from Third Person Press. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, entities or settings is entirely coincidental.

Thompson, James FW, 1981-, author

Rise of the Mudmen / James FW Thompson

Third Person Press

Email: [e-mail]

Web: www.thirdpersonpress.com

Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, Canada

Rise of the Mudmen

Print ISBN: 978-0-9936325-4-9

Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9936325-5-6

To the drama kids who taught me

that you can accomplish amazing things

at any age.

BEFORE

ALEX

She ran, stumbling through the forest. Panic and freshly fallen snow tripped her, and it quickly became very clear she didn’t have a chance. Her life could be tracked in just a few terror-filled seconds.

They were on her. First one, then two, and quickly six of them surrounded her. They stumbled and fell as much as she did, but it didn’t matter; they had the advantage. They were in control. They bore down gnashing at her, tearing her flesh as she writhed in fear and pain.

Quickly the image of purity and serenity became a bloodbath. Her jerking motions only stopped as they yanked bloody, steaming pieces of her into their mouths. Their faces were stained red along with the snow-white ground.  The only sounds were of their growling and chomping as sticky red tendons snapped from one creature to another. Between bites, one of them looked up, searching for something—perhaps their next kill; perhaps to find anyone who watched them as they fed; perhaps both.

Just as suddenly as it began, it was over with a quick flip of the dial.

Hey, Alex said, I was watching that!

Shadow, his black lab, woke up with a jerk at the sudden noise. Alex had hoped she might take more of an interest in her canine relatives, but evidently the show was too long for her.

Yeah, I noticed, his dad replied. But it’s supper time, and I don’t want you getting any ideas.

Alex headed for the kitchen to set the table. So you’re saying you don’t want to just tear a deer apart on the table?

His dad shook his head as he flipped through the channels looking for the news. Naw, I’m okay with spaghetti. He finally settled on a channel and looked to his son. Why would they show something like that on TV anyway? That’s just…messy. A bit scary, don’t you think?

Dad, Alex said, rolling his eyes—a habit he had developed in the month since he’d turned fifteen. "It’s New Wilderness! Lorne Greene, talking about wolves. It’s educational."

Uh huh, his dad said, backing onto the couch. "It might be, but I’m already dealing with getting your sister to sleep, I don’t want to have to worry about you and your glomp, glomp, glomp." He stomped around on the spot, grinning at Alex.

I have no idea what you are talking about, he said. How about you, Mary? Do you have any idea what he is talking about?

Mary stared back at him and giggled as she kicked her short legs in her father’s arms.

Exactly, Alex said, no one knows what you’re talking about, Dad.

Okay, whatever you say. Let me know when the table is set, all right? I’m going to catch some of the news.

Alex went into the kitchen without a reply. Shadow slumped off the couch and followed him, hoping for a treat before her own supper.

Though he played it off as a joke, Alex didn’t like it when his dad brought them up. The mudmen. Years ago, he had a series of bad dreams: everyone turned into mud creatures who roamed the streets looking for other people to turn. They would eat them and spit them out as more mudmen. He had no idea where the idea originally came from, but his dad was convinced that it had come from an episode of Scooby-Doo and had therefore banned it from the house for a few months. Now whenever anything questionable was watched, his dad brought up the mudmen.

Things like that bothered an eleven-year old, but that was four years ago. Now Alex felt he was practically an adult; he was above such things. The memory embarrassed him—partly because it was so silly to have such an irrational fear and partly because it still sent shivers through him when he pictured the creatures his mind had created.

Though he viewed the idea as a part of his childhood, the worst instance of the mudmen haunting him had actually occurred almost a year and a half ago. May 20, 1985—Victoria Day. The day that his mother died.

She left to get a few things at the grocery store—they were planning a barbeque with family friends to celebrate the long weekend. Evidently, someone else had decided to start celebrating early. She was killed instantly when a drunk driver blasted through a stop sign, into the other lane, and directly into her as she drove to the store.

It made no sense. She was only gone for five minutes, maybe less. It was a safe area, only a few blocks from their house; they knew it well. It wasn’t a high traffic street. They barely ever passed anyone, just friendly people, waving to their neighbours as they coasted by. Plus, it was a beautiful, sunny day. Bad things didn’t happen on beautiful, sunny days. It didn’t make sense: his mother walked out the door and could never come back. He couldn’t even remember if he had said goodbye to her before she went out.

As if the tragedy weren’t hard enough on his father, Alex could no longer stand to be alone. It felt less painful when there were other people around. His dad didn’t have to be as close if there were friends or other family around—of which there were plenty in the days following the accident. After a week, both Alex and his dad thought it was a good idea for him to go back to school. The two entered the building together to speak to Alex’s principal. Everything was very somber, but it seemed like the best decision.

Back outside, as his dad was walking away, and before Alex knew what he was doing, he shouted at the top of his lungs, I love you! Don’t go! The panic in his voice brought stares from everyone around him in the crowded schoolyard. Suddenly he felt very isolated. His heart raced and he gasped for air. He tried to rush into the school, but in his panic, he couldn’t get the front door open. His best friends, Mark and Jeremy, tried to help, but Alex just shoved them away. Almost everyone else ignored the situation and Alex’s distress.

Almost.

Alex thought he had gotten past the problem almost entirely. He barely thought about the incident at school, or the accident, or the nightmares that came with it anymore. However, ever since then, Alex always had to know exactly where his father was. He would never allow it to happen that his father would simply not come back home to him.

Pushing the thought aside, he set the table, listening to the sound of the news and his father talking to Mary as if she could understand the stories. It just looks worse and worse every week down there, huh Mary?

His dad always watched the American news from Bangor, Maine. He watched local news too, but said the American news was more current because things always came to Cape Breton way later than anywhere else in the world. Plus, he said it was just more interesting. Alex didn’t get it. Nothing about the news was interesting. The only time he had spent more than a few fleeting seconds watching it was when it had ruined his birthday party earlier that year.

The MacAulay’s had never been big on parties—in fact, Alex refused to celebrate his fourteenth birthday the September after his mother had died. It was something that she had always done with Alex; he thought doing it without her would be a disservice. He admitted his regret just before his father’s birthday the following January. His father offered to share his birthday and vowed to give Alex the best birthday celebration of his life on January 28, 1986.

The day the Challenger exploded.

They tried to pretend nothing had happened, but everyone was distracted by the disaster. After that, they were done with parties. Last month, for Alex’s fifteenth birthday, his dad took him and two of his friends to Simeon’s for dinner.

Alex had never really been interested in the news prior to the Challenger disaster, but he avoided it like a disease after. There were updates on the story for weeks, constantly reminding him. Now he just avoided it out of habit.

He knew he wasn’t missing much: wars in countries he had never heard of, diseases getting worse and spreading, economic recessions—whatever those were—and generally just more and more bad news. There was enough of that with his dad getting laid off from the steel plant and signs that things would only be getting worse around Cape Breton as he grew up.

To him, the news was a reminder of what a great time it was to be alive.

He yawned as he approached his school. He sat on the front step, barely able to keep his head from rolling sleepily out of his hands as he waited for his friends, Mark and Jeremy, to arrive.

My Uncle Steven said that it’s, like, something to do with AIDS, Mark was saying as he and Jeremy arrived. The topic of AIDS had overtaken the junior high in previous months. Like most topics in the school that were considered ‘mature’, it seemed that most people had no idea what they were talking about.

Like… Mark strained, trying to come up with a term so he would sound like an expert, like … hyper-AIDS.

Hyper-AIDS, huh? Jeremy said skeptically. I dunno. My cousin is in the army, and he never said anything about that. He’d know.  Jeremy was a notorious liar. Alex doubted he even had a cousin, let alone one who knew anything in the army.

What are you guys talking about? Alex asked his friends as he shook the left-over sleep out of his head.

Mark stopped and stared at Alex. Something that was on the news. You wouldn’t understand.

Great, Alex sighed. As much as he avoided the news, his friends had become engrossed in it in an effort to show how adult they were at the sophisticated age of fourteen. Alex was in no hurry to be an adult, despite being the oldest of the three.

Mark smirked at Alex then to Jeremy. Don’t worry, Alex. You’ll catch up some day.

Jeremy snorted out a chuckle as they dropped their book bags and sat with him.

Anyway, Mark continued, it just said that it happens fast and that people are disappearing.

Yeah, Jeremy said with a nod. That sounds like AIDS to me.

Oh yeah? Alex finally decided to enter the conversation. In what way does that sound like Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome?

Jeremy stared at him blankly. What?

And, checkmate, Alex said with a grin. Mark gave him a high five. Clearly, they were on a higher level of intelligence than their dumber friend. He was just lucky that he memorized the medical term from a poster that hung in the hall outside of his French class. He had to do something other than learn French, after all.

Alex seized the moment to change the subject: a movie that he had watched over the weekend. Normally he would have watched it with his friends, but this one was the ASN Saturday Late Night Movie which started at midnight and didn’t end until 2:00; he had fallen asleep before it ended. It was called The Thing. His dad had watched it when he was a kid—only that was a different movie. This one was a re-make, and it seemed to only loosely fit the description his dad had given him. The special effects were amazing—watching people shift into horrible, twisted monsters—but they actually had scared him. Not that he would admit he was scared to his friends. Ironically, another fear soon became obvious.

Oh hey, Alec!

Jared Flemming had started picking on Alex when he moved to his new elementary in third grade. Tripping him, stealing his change, calling him names. It stopped when Jared entered junior high, leaving Alex behind. When Alex moved up, he feared that the relationship would start over anew, but aside from a few sideways glances, Jared had left him alone. Alex let himself hope that he had changed.

Then came Alex’s breakdown in front of the school. Most people ignored it. A few people—Alex’s friends and teachers—helped. Jared just took it all in. And laughed. He actually got sent home on a three-day suspension for it. When Alex was finally ready to come back to school, Jared was more than ready to welcome him back. The difference was that now, instead of tripping Alex or stealing his change, he attacked him mentally.

Where’s Daddy at today, Alec? or Why don’t you run home to Mommy, Alec—oh, never mind! became his usual greetings.

Jared always called him Alec, pushing the hard ‘c,’ as if something so trivial would bother Alex.

It bothered him immensely.

But that was when Jared was still in the same school. This year he was in high school at the Academy, and Alex had almost two blissful, Jared-free months of Grade 9 so far. Apparently, it was too good to last.

Alex wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. He was just that little third grader again. Fortunately, Mark understood the situation. Come on, he said standing up. I wanna ask you guys about my science fair project.

Jeremy followed along, keeping his eyes on Jared and his cronies. He, too, had been bullied by the older boys, but now they just ignored him.

Alex stayed glued to his spot on the steps, his breathing audible.

Alex? Mark finally got his attention. You coming?

Huh? Alex said, making Jared and his friends laugh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming. He stood, even though his legs had suddenly turned to rubber.

Jared continued staring at the boys, smiling. Science fair, huh? His friends chuckled quietly to themselves as they waited for the punchline. You kids really know how to party.

As the older boys walked away, Jared called over his shoulder: You know what, boys? I like this route. I think we’ll take it every day from now on. He turned and looked straight into Alex’s eyes. See you tomorrow, Alec! Say hi to your mommy for me!

They took all his friends. They took everyone on his street. They took everyone he knew. They all became mud monsters who just wanted to eat. They looked more real now.

For the most part, the creatures were faceless when they turned. Just horrific masses with gaping maws full of jagged teeth. Three faces stayed, though. He recognized three of the mudmen. They had teamed up against him and they would find him because they knew him far too well.

One was Jared.

As they got closer, details of their muddy faces became more and more clear.

One was his father.

The sounds of their sloppy breath filled his ears. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. There was no air in his chest.

One was his mother.

He woke up with a scream.

A quick glance at his alarm clock told him it was 3:45AM. Crap, he said, hearing his dad’s footsteps approaching.

His bedroom door slowly opened. What happened? Everything okay? his dad asked, a combination of sleepiness and panic in his voice.

I’m okay, Alex said, wincing.

Okay, great, his dad said. Turn on your lamp, then.

His dad sat on the bed, the light casting strange shadows across his face. What’s up?

Nothing, he said with a shrug, not making eye contact, hoping it would be enough.

Oh, his dad replied. That’s good.

Alex sighed with relief, but his dad didn’t leave. Instead, he just looked around the room and scratched Shadow between the ears, much to her delight.

I’m glad you woke me up, his dad said, his features softening, but still holding onto a trace of seriousness. I was having a bad dream.

For a moment, there was silence. This was a strange turn. After a few seconds, Alex asked, About what?

His father took a deep breath. For a moment, Alex wondered if he had had the same dream. Just … his dad paused, a look of uncertainty on his face. There’s ... there’s a lot of stuff happening, you know? In the world? Just falling apart. I worry about something happening to you or to Mary. It scares me.

Oh, Alex said, not entirely sure what to say.

Yeah, his dad said with a nod. You know what I mean?

Yeah, Alex said, cluing in; the old it’s-all-right-to-be-scared-sometimes speech. He had to give him credit though, this was an interesting way to bring it up. Putting Alex in the role of the comforter. But, you know Dad, whatever happens, we’ll be okay. Things aren’t that bad. And, you know ... it’s okay to be scared. Sometimes.

Yeah, his dad said, trying to hide his grin. You’re right. Thanks, Alex. You’re a smart kid, you know.

Yeah, I know, Alex said, not bothering to hide his own grin.

His dad leaned over and kissed the top of his son’s head and stood up to go. Before he got to the door, Alex stopped him.

Dad, about your nightmare, he started, unsure what he was going to ask. If anything ever did happen to ... to any of us—

His dad cut him off before he could finish. We’re going to be fine. You, Mary, and me.  We’re all gonna be fine.

Alex looked over at the dog he’d owned for as long as he could remember. And Shadow?

His dad smiled. Of course, Shadow too. I wouldn’t let anything happen to any of you. You know that, right?

Alex could see in his father’s eyes that he had never been more sincere about anything in his entire life. That was the answer he was looking for. He smiled. Yeah, Dad. I know.

He fell asleep to the happy, dreamy grumbles of Shadow as she nuzzled into his legs on the bed.

DAVID

Whatcha doing?

David had been asking questions all day—it’s what little brothers do.

Nicole stopped in her task—non-perishable foods and mini camping supplies strewn about the table—glared at David, sighed, and went back to organizing without a word. It’s what big sisters do.

Can I venture a guess? David continued, sensing that she did not want to be bothered, which meant that he should go on. I’m guessing you are ... He scanned the objects on the table: a flashlight, camping matches, a compass, a pop bottle filled with water. ... running away? Oh my God, Nicole, are you running away?

Nicole slammed her hand down on the table, making her teased out hair wobble with the force. David could not get used to his sister’s new goth look: the poofy, dyed-black hair, red eye-liner, black eye-shadow, black lipstick, black everything except the white powder on her face. She wasn’t exactly tan before, so he thought it was a pointless addition, especially when her face was no longer the same colour as her neck. She didn’t find it as clever as he did when he told her that she looked like a mix between Bozo the Clown and Dracula. The wobbling hair wasn’t new, but he still had to stifle a laugh.

You’re running away, aren’t you?

No, spaz, Nicole finally responded. I am not running away. Now frig off. Seriously.

Oh, David paused. So, whatcha—

I’m making a survival kit!

David nodded his head and re-scanned the objects. Yes, it does look like that, doesn’t it? Mmm hmm.

Nicole stopped again but did not look at him. What do you want?

I’m bored, he admitted.

Uh-huh, Nicole said, going back to her task.

Yeah, David continued. You wanna play a game?

A game of what?

David thought for a moment. I was hoping you’d have an idea?

David, Nicole turned in her chair to look at him. If you are bored, might I suggest you ... She paused. David waited for the inevitable go jump in front of a moving truck or see how high you can fall before it kills you. Maybe she would just punch him. ... go see what’s under Carol’s sink and see what it tastes like? Then she punched him.

Being on the road must have given her new material, David thought as he walked away.

David and Nicole had been staying with their Aunt Carol for the past three days, with another four days to go before their parents got back from Europe. David had been told that they couldn’t go because they’d miss too much school, but he was fairly certain it had something to do with the blowout that Nicole had had with them the week before. Sometimes he hated being the sibling—it usually meant that if one was punished for something, so was the other.

It did make it a little easier on him to be intentionally annoying to his sister. He really would have liked to have visited Stonehenge, so he would subtly take it out on her as much as he could. At least until she told him why they were actually left at home, which he doubted would ever happen.

He was fine with that. They rarely had quality brother-sister time since she went all gloomy-vampire on him. At least it was better than her flower-child phase.

In the three days at Aunt Carol’s, David had gone through all of the National Geographics, organized them by date, then by colour of the picture on the cover, then by date again. He had brought the family’s Nintendo with them, but forgot to check what sort of TV connection Aunt Carol had. Now the Nintendo sat in its box next to a Sobeys’ bag full of games. Mocking him.

To keep himself entertained, he took apart various appliances in Carol’s home. He had already taken apart the vacuum cleaner and the toaster and put them back together, and was about to start on the recliner in the living room, to get rid of its weird squeaking noise, when he heard glass shatter.

He looked into the dining room where he had just been talking with his sister. She was gone, and so was her survival kit.

Nicole? What was that?

No answer.

Nicole? Where—

Another shattering sound stopped the words in his throat.

It came from the basement.

Nicole? Hello? he called, weakly, as he walked toward the basement door. There was no light on down there, only a rustling sound. A ... struggling sound. He peered down the stairwell. He jumped at a loud bang, quickly followed by another shatter.

His mouth dried as he looked down the stairs. He would try calling out one more time, then he would close the door and barricade it with Aunt Carol’s coffee table.

Hello?

Suddenly, he caught a shadow moving—lumbering—toward the stairs. Whatever it was, it was shuffling as it moved slowly toward him.

SMASH!

As the shadow came closer, he, sweating profusely, backed away toward the coffee table. Whatever it was had reached the stairs, and was making its way up to him. So slowly. Why didn’t I close the door?! he thought, as he reached down and grabbed the leg of the coffee table. He could block this thing’s path—whatever it was. He gave it a tug, but it wouldn’t move—the living room rug made it stick.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

He could feel a scream welling in his throat, but he wasn’t sure if could let it out. Even if he did, there was no one there to help him. Aunt Carol wasn’t home from work, and it seemed that Nicole had left him there to die.

Clunk. Clunk.

Now he could see it at the top of the stairs.

It was a box with JARS scrawled onto the side in black marker, held aloft by his sister.

Nicole placed it down on the floor with a thud which made the jars inside rattle.

If you’re still bored, she said, ignoring the look of fear on David’s face, there’s some glass downstairs. Someone should clean it up before Carol gets home.

Thank you, David replied. That sounds like all kinds of fun.

I do what I can, Nicole said with a grin. She picked up the box and made her way to the kitchen, her survival kit slung over her shoulder.

He wanted to question her, to yell at her, Why wouldn’t you answer me? Why would you want to scare me? What’s wrong with you? but that would be what she wanted, he guessed, so he let it go. When she looked away, David took a deep breath and finally stopped clenching his fists. He followed her into the kitchen.

Why are you making survival kits anyways? he asked, sitting in the chair across from her. You’re gonna run out of stuff here soon, and then you’ll starve because you have it all hidden away. That would be horribly ironic.

That’s not what irony means, David.

Yes, it is.

No, it isn’t. Irony isn’t just bad stuff happening.

No, I know that. But this time it is.

You have no idea what you’re talking about. She rummaged through the cupboards as she half-heartedly argued.

Anyways, David interjected, trying to get back on point.

You can never have too many survival kits. What if the power goes out?

The power doesn’t go off that often here, David said, very matter-of-factly. We’re on the hospital grid, so putting our power back on is a priority. So, the ... He looked over his sister’s shoulder, ... Count Chocula that you’re putting in jars won’t be that necessary.

What if it goes out for a long time?

Then we can just eat the cereal out of the cupboard.

And what if we’re not home?

"Well, we’re not home. We’re—"

What if we’re not here? What if we’re ... at the mall?

David paused. You have a survival kit at the mall?

Nicole turned, glaring at him. No, stupid. That’s why I’m putting it in a backpack.

David saw an opening. Okay. So you’re putting them in backpacks so that you can take them wherever, right?

Yes.

So, why do you need more than one? Victory.

Nicole paused and then said, This is why nobody likes you.

Whatever, he replied as he walked away, taking the insult as a sign of her defeat. Though I think we’d survive at the mall. They have food there, too.

NICOLE

David had been very annoying those past few days. Granted, she knew why it was happening—that, it could be argued, it was even her fault that it was happening—but that wasn’t the point. She was suffering just as much as he was, possibly more, because at least she wasn’t running around, taking stuff apart and asking ridiculous questions every thirty seconds.

And really, it wasn’t her fault at all.

Usually when her parents stuck to their guns, it worked out for the best. She and David learned from it and became better and stronger. This time, it just made her more angry and David more annoying.

The deal was simple—at least to her parents. She was seventeen and it was time she got a job. If she didn’t even want to start looking for a job, then she would stay home and earn money looking after her brother. As far as she was concerned, the deal was flawed from the onset.

She had already started looking for a job when it was first brought up a year prior.

She had even gotten an interview. She figured the job was as good as hers. Her grades were the highest at her school and she was incredibly hard working. When she wanted something, she got it with hard work and intelligence.

When the time for the interview came around, she was nothing but confidence. She had finally found a look she was comfortable with—true, she was wearing a bit more powder then, but she figured that out—and finally learned to be herself. She thought she nailed the first question What makes you suitable for this job?

Well, she started, I’m pretty sure we’re selling shoes. I have a 98 in math. I can count. I know how many feet people have. It’s usually two. If it’s less, I give them half off.

Her confidence faltered just a bit when they stared blankly. Her smile didn’t help. She’d never really figured out how to do it well. She rallied when they asked her to role play selling them shoes.

Ma’am, you say you’re a size six, but we both know that that is a lie. Or are you talking about a men’s six? You look like you could wear men’s shoes. It doesn’t really matter. Shoes are shoes. Also, I don’t know how often you smell what’s going on down here, but you might want to consult a physician. Gangrene has a very distinct smell, and I’m worried this might be it. I’m just looking out for your health here. And sir, if you don’t stop staring at my hair like that, I’m going to have to smack you. This is not a runway. I’ve hit better for less. What kind of store are you running here, anyway? Treat people like people, Jesus.

She was told she wasn’t very personable. Why she needed to be personable to work at a shoe store, she had no idea. You just had to be able to get people shoes that fit. That was literally all the job involved. Being personable did not come into it. She boiled it down to the same thing: people are idiots.

She didn’t bother with looking for stupid mall jobs ever since then. Or any job in the area. The guidance counsellor told her the same thing: she wasn’t very personable. She didn’t get along well with others. She scared people.

She didn’t care. So far as she could tell, scaring people was good. That meant that she was powerful, intimidating, and able to take care of herself.

She even told her parents this when they asked her how the job hunt was going. They had a few suggestions for her, and she had a few suggestions