Zombies & Other Unpleasant Things

by William Bebb

  On his birthday, Twisto got a trio of his toughest mentally deficient followers to forcefully bring Wilson into his cell and hold him down. There were muffled cries coming from Twisto's cell, but because it was located on the fourth floor of the cell block no guard's heard it, plus he had many of his minions down in the common area singing loudly to help cover the noises.

  Twisto and the others in his cell shoved every piece of hard candy he'd saved down Wilson's throat. He even got some of his followers to contribute theirs sweets as well. No one thought to ask why. They were just happy to help Twisto.

  Stuffing Wilson was a messy endeavor that took even longer to complete because he threw up repeatedly once they'd stuffed him with several pounds of hard candy, wrappers and all. Twisto was afraid Wilson would die before he was ready to unveil his demented and perhaps unnecessarily messy plan for revenge. He had him stripped naked and began inserting candy up into his rectum. Things went along much quicker and relatively smoother after that.

  By the time the last piece of candy was inserted Wilson's stomach was very noticeably and sickeningly distended. They tied a 'rope' made out of several bed sheets around the double murderers ankles and Twisto told his giggling minions to wait for the signal and started down the stairs.

  A man he called Spazzo was the clown’s most loyal number one fan. He tied the other end of the ‘rope’ to the bars of the cell and watched in near adoration as Twisto went down toward the commons area.

  Twisto sang happy birthday boisterously as he went downstairs, and his friends, followers and a few other prisoners had joined in. (He really did have a remarkable singing voice) When he reached the commons room he bowed as his fan club applauded and cheered the birthday boy.

  Twisto then asked in his high pitched voice, “Hey! Who here like piñatas?”

  When several men shouted that they did, he said, “Good news, kiddies, I've got one. All we need is something to bust open a piñata with. Does anyone have any ideas?”

  After the assembled crowd of prisoners suggested using: a hairbrush, a fist, a cock, and a few even less probable tools Twisto raised his hands and asked, “Hey, how about a broomstick?”

  There was much nodding of heads and a general murmuring agreement that a broomstick might work fairly well. Twisto then grinned, reached into his pants and began pulling out half a broken stick he'd hidden there.

  The men laughed as he pretended it was his penis and stroked it while pulling it from his pants. Twisto then signaled Spazzo and the other two men upstairs holding a weakly struggling, naked, stuffed, and gagged Wilson. They pushed him over the railing and lowered him down until there was no more 'rope'.

  The lack of understanding regarding simple mathematics when figuring out how many bed sheets were needed resulted in Wilson's body jerking to a stop and slowly spinning almost twelve feet off the floor. Twisto grumbled as he ran upstairs to the first landing, “I always hated math.”

  The attendees of the birthday party were laughing at Wilson as Twisto reached a place where he could hit the unorthodox barely alive writhing and spinning piñata. As he playfully swung the broomstick, Twisto sang.

  “Who can take a guy,

  string him way up high!?

  Whack him with a stick,

  because he’s a nasty prick!

  Who's the guy!?”

  The crowd of very excited prisoners jumped up and down while giddily shouting, “Twisto!” over and over.

  The closed circuit video feed of the commons room showed the Wilson piñata hanging upside down and the guards reacted by setting off the alarm and hurrying down the connecting hallway. But they were much too late to prevent the piñata from being broken open and raining down partially digested candy (along with a sizable amount of intestines, blood, and fecal matter) upon the birthday revelers.

  One of the guards who later wrote up the event in his daily report described the scene like this: By the time I arrived in the commons area prisoner Roger Wilson was very dead. His naked corpse was spinning suspended upside down several feet above the floor by a rope made out of bed sheets tied together. His midsection looked like a ruptured blood filled canister of biscuit dough. Most of the inmates below were gathering up candy. A few were yanking and tugging on the intestines hanging down from the deceased Wilson as if they were party streamers. When they pulled on his guts more candy fell from the corpse along with a sizable amount of fecal matter.

  Since that day, Twisto had been confined to the Psychiatric Cell Block and Dr. Hagan, the Head of Bayonne's clinic, had repeatedly begged the warden to have Twisto transferred to another correctional facility.

  But he never was, and now he and his followers were free.

  Rikert hated using the elevated catwalks that crisscrossed above some of the buildings, but with the prisoners running wild in the courtyard and around all the cell blocks he decided despite his fear of heights it would probably be the safest way to reach the power building. The guard saw flames erupting from the administration building and heard an odd mixture of screams and yells as Bayonne's population celebrated their much appreciated and unexpected emancipation. When he reached the roof of the workshop building there was a scream that sounded very much like a woman's echoing back from the distant granite walls. It forced him to stop and look around.

  At the rear of the workshop, he spotted Captain LaShod slowly crawling across the gravel driveway.

  There was no way down from the roof nearby. The closest staircase was back at the cafeteria building and Rikert didn't think there would be enough time to run all the way there and get to his captain's side before something else happened to him. LaShod's uniform shirt was torn and bloody and from the way he was barely moving, Rikert feared he'd be dead long before he could get there.

  There was another scream and howls of laughter drifting over from the darkened athletics field.

  It can’t be a woman. Why would there be a woman at Bayonne? he thought, while cautiously hurrying to the edge of the slanted roof. Looking nervously down at the twelve foot drop to the gravel, he bit his lip and lowered himself to a sitting position on the edge of the roof.

  Aside from the captain, it looked deserted below and he checked that the safety was engaged before dropping the shotgun to the ground. Swiveling around, he grabbed the edge of the roof and lowered his body before taking a deep breath and letting go.

  He landed hard but didn't feel anything break, although his ankles objected as hurried over to retrieve the shotgun.

  LaShod heard footsteps crunching across the gravel toward him and wearily lifted his head. He barely recognized the young guard and gasped, “Help me.”

  “Take it easy, captain,” Rikert whispered as he lifted him to a semi standing position and slung LaShod's arm around his neck.

  After they crossed to the rear of the cafeteria building, LaShod mumbled something about helping a reporter. But Rikert had no idea who he was talking about and assumed the captain was delirious from pain. He hoped someone at the power station knew first aid, because other than being able to place a bandage on a simple cut he knew very little.

  As they passed two large tractor trailer rigs parked at the cafeteria's loading dock, Rikert heard fewer gunshots coming from the main gate. He hoped that meant the situation was coming under control, but felt a heavy cold fear in the pit of his stomach that it could mean just the opposite. The prisoners had somehow overwhelmed the guards.

  After hurrying past the trucks he stopped and stared in confused disbelief at the figures kneeling between the power station and the loading docks. It didn't make sense and Rikert’s mind was having a difficult time comprehending the sight before him.

  Several men were bent over someone who appeared to have had sizable portions of his flesh ripped, bitten, and torn from the bones. The blood splattered figures were all busy and noisily eating and hadn't noticed Rikert or the captain.

  The man lying on the ground opened his somewhat dull clouded eyes and turned his head. He stared st
raight at Rikert and growled before pushing away the diners feasting on his body. One by one, the others turned and realized that there was fresh living meat just a few yards away.

  “Shoot them,” LaShod said weakly to the young guard.

  Rikert lifted the shotgun and fired as the undead stood and started toward them.

  The less than lethal shotgun ammunition struck them and caused a few to fall, but the rest began trotting and yelling.

  LaShod pulled the guard's revolver from its holster and opened fire at them.

  If he hadn't been so tired and in so much pain from his back injuries, the captain might have been more accurate with his aim. He missed entirely with the first shot. The second bullet struck a man with short gray hair directly in his nose and a spray of brains, blood, and bits of skull splashed across those men behind him. The last four bullets also struck some of them, but part of the reason was due to their closing the distance in what seemed to be a nightmarish fast speed.

  Rikert kept firing the shotgun, but other than momentarily stunning the undead there was very little discernible effect. The young guard began using the shotgun as a club and swung it down on the head of the closest undead. But it grabbed the barrel just as it started down and opened his mouth to yell.

  Rikert thrust the barrel's tip inside the man's mouth, breaking several teeth in the process, and fired.

  The bean bag type of, less than lethal, shotgun ammunition was never intended to be fired inside a man's mouth or even an undead man's mouth for that matter. The force in such a tight enclosed space was more than sufficient to cause both of his eyeballs to spring out like a madman's idea of a toy. (Twisto would have loved it)

  Rikert didn't have time to dwell on who would purchase such a thing, other than possibly the Addam's Family.

  Kicking at them and yelling in confused fear, Rikert felt their hands grabbing and tearing at his uniform. He noticed the odd cool almost clammy feel of them, but even then didn't understand the attackers were undead. Teeth bit down on his arm as he reached for a canister of combination mace and pepper spray. It hurt like hell but he managed to hold the canister and pressed the button. The white cloud of spray seemed to at least momentarily confuse the attackers, but as Rikert continued to stagger and carry LaShod toward the power building he saw them doggedly following.

  Gunshots came from behind him, and Rikert fully expected to feel the bullets strike him, but then saw the pursuers falling. He turned and saw a very chubby guard standing in the open garage door entryway of the power station.

  “Hurry up! We gotta close the roll top door before more of them show up!” The chubby guard yelled.

  Rikert's arm was torn and bleeding considerably and he felt more tired with every step taken. But somehow he managed to get LaShod inside the garage.

  The chubby guard hit the button that started the garage door noisily rolling down its tracks and continued firing at the undead until it was finally shut.

  LaShod heard the dull metallic boom sound as the door closed. The sound seemed to bring him back to almost full consciousness. He saw the chubby guard quickly reloading his pistol and then heard someone outside hitting the garage door.

  It was made of some kind of new metal that was supposed to be bullet proof and LaShod wasn't worried that they could ever break in.

  Rikert found a bottle of water on a storage crate and took a long sip before handing it to the captain.

  LaShod finished off the rest of the water and crossed fairly steadily over to the chubby guard. “Good work, Billie. I need to borrow that gun.”

  Billie looked confused.

  “I lost mine and need to go check to make sure the rest of the building is secure,” LaShod explained before asking, “How many other guards made it here other than you?”

  Handing over the gun, Billie said, “Three. Sheffield's in the can. The old guy who spits whenever he talks is bandaging up Ryan on the other side of the van. I was just about to shut the garage door when I saw you two coming. Guess I did pretty good, huh boss?”

  “Yeah, you done good,” LaShod said turning. “Rikert, go get your arm looked at. I'll be back after I go check on a few things. And thanks for saving my ass back there.”

  The young guard nodded with a tired smile. “We actually made it. We're safe.”

  “Yeah, safe,” LaShod said softly as he wearily climbed the steps leading from the garage into the power station's main hallway. Opening the heavy metal door slowly he wished he could believe they really were safe.

  The hallway of the power station was deserted except for the cardboard boxes filled with appropriated food that were stacked along one wall. He checked the monitor room and saw it was deserted as well. A familiar soft rushing sound of the air exchangers coming through the vents and faint chirping of various electronics made him feel almost safe for the first time since before the execution.

  LaShod limped over to the mini fridge and pulled a bottle of beer out. He twisted off the cap and tossed it across the room, wishing he'd thought to have someone bring in a larger quantity of alcoholic beverages.

  In great pain he gingerly sat down at the desk, took a long drink, and reached for the phone. He lifted the handset and was disappointed, yet not very surprised, to hear no dial tone. After slamming it down he groaned and checked the desk drawers for any pain medication, but found nothing helpful.

  There should be a first aid kit out in the garage. Maybe there's something in there to tamp down my back pain. I never thought we might need medicine. Of course, I never thought we'd be facing a prison uprising coupled with undead mother fuckers either. I just wish there was some way I could warn the police in town about what's going on.

  He took another sip of beer and considered the van out in the garage. It was armored and had bullet resistant glass, but the idea of driving it out and trying to make it to somewhere to call the cops seemed beyond his abilities. He considered asking for a volunteer to make the drive as he finished off the bottle of beer.

  After a few more seconds, he nodded and tried to stand up.

  His back screamed in protest and the pain was just short of torture, but after several long seconds he unsteadily stood up and saw a bit of blood on the back of the chair. As he shuffled toward the door, LaShod coughed and tasted blood. It was difficult for him to catch his breath and the very real and unpleasant possibility that one of his lungs, or maybe both, were filling with blood scared him.

  Captain LaShod felt tired and leaned against the right wall of the hallway as he continued slowly back toward the garage. It seemed a long way to go. With each step he felt weaker.

  Halfway there, he heard screams and yells coming from inside the garage. Ignoring the pain, he hurried the last few steps to the door.

  George was shocked but not by the crowds of seemingly crazed convicts fighting amongst themselves and shooting almost wildly at anyone they chose; those things actually seemed fairly normal at Bayonne Prison. No, what surprised him was the fact that during the trip to their Cell Block he, Vito, and Jose had been mostly unmolested which seemed like a miracle.

  Not that Vito had been shy about waving off anyone who approached them, as George and Jose pushed two heavily laden carts of food supplies. So far he'd actually only had to fire one time. An old man wearing the shredded remnants of his orange prison uniform was soaked in blood and trailing a long foul smelling rope of intestines behind him.

  The old man came through a cloud of smoke drifting over from the administration building, and George thought he was more pitiful looking than threatening as he shuffled toward them. Vito was walking ahead of the carts and only took a second before firing. The old undead man fell and Vito kicked the body off the sidewalk so the cart wheels wouldn't get tangled in the intestines.

  There was a chorus of screams and yells coming from near the front gate, but the smoke was so thick none of them could see it. All three were coughing and having difficulty breathing.

  At one point, George became disoriented when
his cart rolled off the sidewalk and found himself faced with the outer walls of Cell Block D. He stared at the hands reaching through the barred windows and the terrified faces trying to breathe as more smoke drifted out of the building.

  Vito appeared at his side and helped George get the cart rolling in the right direction once more.

  When they managed to make it to the courtyard it was easier to breathe and all three men paused and greedily sucked down deep lungfuls of the clearer air.

  George felt dizzy and disoriented as he looked around.

  To their left, the stately looking administration building was burning like a bonfire. Huge flames erupted from all the windows of the four story building and even over the yells coming from the gate there were sounds of explosions and gunfire issuing forth from inside the structure.

  The security office and armory had begun to burn and the munitions stored inside were going off in sporadic bursts.

  Beyond the administration bonfire, the large open gate was surrounded by bodies strewn on the ground and dozens of men fighting with each other. There was still gunfire coming from that direction as well, although the frequency of shots was much less than before.

  “We need to get to the cell block, guys,” Vito said nervously.

  George turned and saw what Vito was looking at.

  The entrance to Cell Block D was barricaded with a van. Someone had parked it right up against the metal door so it couldn't be opened. There was a large group of skinheads cheering nearby as smoke continued to pour from the cell windows. Screams of the dying men trapped inside D Block drifted out and George felt sick as he finally realized what was going on.

  Cell Block D was populated nearly entirely by black prisoners and the skinheads had somehow managed to set the building on fire. The yells for help and agonized screams had been going on since they'd left the cafeteria, but up until that moment George hadn't known the cause.