The Dead Collection Box Set #1: Jack Zombie Books 1-4

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The Dead Collection Box Set #1: Jack Zombie Books 1-4 Page 54

by Flint Maxwell


  The face that emerges from the shadows is gaunt, dirty, lead by a thin and pointy nose. A face I recognize.

  It is Froggy.

  He is smiling. And in his hand is the big knife I gave him. The same knife that’s going to strip the meat from my bones.

  Forty-Two

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Froggy says.

  He smiles, but there is fear in his eyes. Rightfully so. I murdered all of his friends, and now, as the gravity of the situation really starts to hit me, making my skin crawl, and the leather straps around my legs, arms, chest, and head get tighter, I feel no remorse. Bring those bastards back as zombies and I’d kill them dead again. Double dead, and that’s the end. The end of the end.

  It’s not like if Froggy said I wasn’t Jack Jupiter they’d let me go. No, these bastards would eat me no matter what. But now, I’m not just a regular Applebee’s frozen steak; now, I’m a fucking filet mignon. Top of the line. Trophy eats.

  “H-He’s the one who killed the rest of my group, and my Frog Mom,” Froggy says. The stammer in his voice was minuscule, but I caught it. Despite, the pain in my head and the fear in my heart, I smile, and I make sure I look as crazy as I feel.

  Can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?

  “Well, my friend,” Danny says, “your sentence has been passed. Punishment: Eaten alive.”

  “Don’t worry,” Steph says, smacking her lips, practically drooling out of the corner of her mouth, “once we dig in, you’ll pass out. They usually do.”

  “Yeah, it’s not like the old days. Back then, you know before all of this, we had anesthetics,” Danny says.

  “How sweet of you,” I say. My voice is barely audible. The fear is choking me out.

  “Not really,” Danny says. “Much easier to eat a person if they aren’t screaming and kicking, hence the straps and the gag we are about to shove in your throat.”

  “No,” Froggy says. “Let him scream. I want to hear the screams.”

  The other man behind him — this man can’t be more than thirty years old and balding — steps out from behind Froggy and nods. He wears a suit coat and white button-up, open collar, no tie, like a Wall Street Business man or and eighties cocaine kingpin, except the front of his shirt is dotted with blood. Great, he’s dressed up for the occasion. Dinner for four. The main course consists of Jack Jupiter. And I notice how big this man’s belly is. It’s bulging like a pregnant woman’s. He’s not got the gaunt and starved look about him. I wonder how many meals he’s been a part of, how many others like me have been trapped and beaten, only to end up in the very same place.

  Danny looks to his sister. He rocks his head back and forth like a pendulum, weighing the options. “Sis?” he says.

  “He’s a guest, isn’t he?” she answers.

  “I think I’m technically the guest,” I say.

  Here I go making jokes. Usually happens when I’m on the brink of death.

  The fat man chuckles, but the rest ignore me.

  “Only if you promise not to scream too loud,” Danny says.

  I don’t answer. I won’t give them the satisfaction of my screams. I will bite my tongue off before I do that.

  “No answer,” Danny says, smiling. “Good enough for me.”

  “Buddy, will you get us the utensils?” Steph asks.

  The fat man says, “Sure thing.”

  He moves out of the room and seconds later comes back with a bag and a wooden box. One is a duffel bag made of leather. It is scuffed, very used. There are drops of dark liquid on it. I see this as he passes my field of vision, then he drops it on the floor. It clinks. Metal. He hands the box to Danny. He sets it on top of my stomach. It’s heavy. And he opens it. Inside, silverware gleams. Not the type of silverware you’d see in your mother’s kitchen drawers. No, these are the types of utensils used for a big cookout. Pitchforks. Blades like the one in Froggy’s hand. Tongs.

  Seeing them is like seeing my death. I’d imagine what I’m going through right now is waking up during surgery to see the doctor holding a buzzsaw up to the light. You don’t know if you’re dreaming or in hell.

  “Is the fire set up?” Danny asks no one in particular.

  “Yeah, it’s burning low right now. I brought marshmallows. We can have s’mores for dessert,” Buddy says.

  Really fucking great.

  Danny grins, but it’s not the shark grin from before. This is a genuinely happy grin. “Aw, Buddy, you know me so well.” Danny has a steak knife and grill fork out, and if the grill fork was a little bigger it would be a perfect zombie weapon — long handle, two sharp prongs. He rubs them together, creating a noise like two swords clashing against each other. My heart is beating ridiculously fast, now. If he pricks me, I’m going to spurt a fountain of blood. I feel my face growing hot, but my skin feeling like ice. I close my eyes, summoning up an image of Darlene. Her standing at the altar, wearing a white wedding dress, low cut, both pure and impure at the same time, her blonde hair flowing in a light sea breeze. When I was younger, I never thought I’d get married. I think this was a result of the fact that most girls wouldn’t give me the time of day. Then, I met Darlene and five years (going on six) later, I still can’t believe she agreed to marry me. And I think I’d like to get married on a beach. On a warm day, calm day. That’s where this image is coming from.

  I try to block out the scraping noise, but I can’t. It’s too loud, too prominent. A heavy, black thunderhead hangs above me, signifying death.

  I smell disinfectant, maybe dish soap — two scents I haven’t smelled since the apocalypse happened. It’s coming from the utensils. Gee, that’s super kind of them. I might get eaten, but at least I won’t catch Hepatitis.

  “Froggy, would you like the inaugural piece?” Danny says.

  I open my eyes. Froggy no longer looks scared. Now, he looks hungry, perhaps even anxious to eat. His eyes are big, lips are wet, hands are shaky with anticipation. “Yes,” he says, “I would.” He crosses the room. I see he is still limping, still wearing the dirty, soiled clothes he was wearing when I sent him home on the bridge away from Wrangler territory. The blood on his shoulder is caked, dark as mud. He smells like vinegar and dirt and body odor.

  “I call the balls!” Buddy says.

  All fight goes out of me when I hear that. The balls? Seriously? There’s got to be cannibal etiquette, got to be something that says you can’t eat someone’s manhood.

  “I’ll split them with you,” Steph says. “I love how they just…pop!”

  I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone.

  “Let’s make sure he’s at the perfect temperature,” Danny says. He speaks lightheartedly, like this is all some big joke. He rummages through the box of barbecuing utensils until he finds a long, thin metal stake. In a blur, he raises it up. Things go slow motion here as they often do in times of great stress for me, and I’m faintly able to recognize that it’s a meat thermometer and this has got to all be some huge, sick prank.

  It’s not.

  He doesn’t pull back. His arm comes down with as much force as a man chopping wood. It punctures my thigh, ripping through my pants and flesh and muscle with ease. Remember that thing I said about not screaming? Yeah, that didn’t last. I’m howling bloody murder. Warmness trickles down my leg, I don’t know whether I pissed myself or I’m just bleeding that much.

  “Needles barely moving,” Danny says. He laughs and flicks the dial a couple times, sending jolts of pain all over my body. “Guess will have to try the other leg.”

  Now everyone is laughing. Buddy holds his heavy gut, chortling deep bursts of laughter. Froggy is even tittering and I thought after the shit that went down on I-95 the bastard would never laugh again.

  Danny rips the thermometer out of my thigh and somehow the pain is even worse. Dark blood drips off the point. My blood. I shudder, trying to muster up the image of Darlene again. Her on the beach. Her smiling. Her laughing while I hold her from behind and kiss her on the cheek.

  Not
hing.

  Nothing comes.

  I’m dying.

  Steph takes the thermometer. “No need, Dan,” she says. “He’s suffered enough.” She sticks the point into her mouth. Slowly. Sensually. She licks it before wrapping her lips around it. Froggy is grinning and groping himself below the belt, absentmindedly…I think. Bud looks on, gazing at her almost like a zombie — dead eyes, entranced. Dan couldn’t give two shits. I assure you, it’s not even remotely sexy. If anything, it’s downright disgusting. “Mmm,” she says through her tightened lips.

  “Okay,” Danny says, rolling his eyes, “that’s enough.”

  I grit my teeth. The pain is coming in waves. Not gentle waves, either, nothing like the ones I imagine in my beach wedding fantasy. No, these waves of pain are tsunami waves, the type with enough force to wipe a city off the face of the earth. I don’t know how I’ve not passed out, actually. But I do know if I pass out, I won’t wake up, or I’ll wake up without a leg or an arm, hell, maybe even my face.

  “Frogman,” Danny says, holding the steak knife and grill fork out. “You’re up. Hope you brought the barbecue sauce.”

  A chuckle from Bud.

  Froggy moves across the greenhouse without a limp. All of his pain must be forgotten. He takes the knife, looks at me, and says, “I’m going to really enjoy this.”

  “Abby was right,” I say. There’s a fire burning in my head. Seeing this freak about to do me in just pisses me off. “I should’ve put a bullet in your brain when I had the chance. But I didn’t. You know why?”

  “We don’t care,” Bud says. “Get on with it, Frogman! You’ve been waiting for this moment for days. It’s not often food falls into your lap like this. Preem-o food.” He smiles, giving the ‘OK’ symbol with his fingers.

  But this isn’t a coincidence. Froggy knew where we were going, knew I was after Doctor Klein. I really should’ve killed him. I just thought he’d never have the balls to face me again.

  Boy, was I wrong and now it’s going to cost me my…balls.

  Froggy looks like he wants to know why I gave him a chance. How do I know this? Well, he’s not carving a meaty piece off of my thigh.

  “Do you want to know?” I repeat.

  Steph watches me, the thermometer still in her mouth like a lollipop.

  “It don’t matter,” Froggy says. “I’m gonna kill ya and eat ya anyway. I’m gonna get you back for what you did to my family and friends, for what you did to Frog Mom. I was gonna give her my babies and we was gonna repopulate the world and you killed her.”

  I can’t recall if I actually pulled the trigger on her. It might’ve been Abby. I guess that’s a bad thing that I can’t remember anymore. But…kill or be killed. And babies?

  “I didn’t kill you because I’m not a monster. You understand that, right?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, but he lowers the knife.

  “Aw, c’mon, Frog Man,” Danny says. “He’s trying to get in your head.”

  No. I’m trying to buy more time. For what? I don’t know. When faced with death, I think we try to hold on to life as long as possible. It’s human. These people aren’t human. I have to distinguish myself from them somehow.

  “Keep going,” Froggy says, his jaw flexing, eyes piercing black.

  “I killed your family because they were trying to kill mine. Put yourself in my shoes, what would you have done? I’m sure your choice of eating human flesh is your brain telling you you need to survive. It may be weird, a little abnormal, but it’s basic human instinct…for you guys, I guess. That’s all I was doing back on the highway. I was trying to survive. Sometimes you do and sometimes you don’t.”

  “I survived,” Froggy says.

  “Because I let you.”

  Steph removes the thermometer from her mouth. There is deep, red blood on the pale flesh of the hand she holds it in. “Get on with it, Froggy, or I will,” she says.

  Her voice startles him. I see him jump slightly, and he raises the knife again.

  “Wait!” I say. My life force feels like it’s draining from the hole in my leg. I’m starting to get lightheaded again. “I killed them because I’m trying to save the world. Don’t you understand? Don’t you all understand?” I say. I’m really grasping at straws now. And from the corner of my eye, I see blood pooling and falling off the table. The steady drip-drip like rainwater against a windowpane. I seem to have their attention. “The zombies,” I say, “I’m here, in D.C. because I’m trying to help get rid of them.”

  Danny never struck me as a person of low intelligence, a man of sick habits such as eating human flesh, but never a man who was stupid. He eyes me with interest. “There’s too many. No way you can get rid of all of them.”

  “There’s a man I was following,” I say.

  “Bullshit. You came with the Wranglers,” Froggy says. “You came with them and you only came for supplies.”

  “They came for supplies. I promised to help,” I say, “if they promised to help me find the doctor.”

  “Doctor?” Danny says, furrowing his brow. “Steph, you don’t think?”

  She’s grinning now. Outside of the glass building, the sun is on its way down. It’ll be dark in less than two hours, I reckon. Either that, or it’s going to storm. And I don’t know which one is worse.

  “You saw him?” I ask.

  Oh God please don’t be in their stomachs please don’t be eaten Doc

  “I think so,” Danny says. “But he’s no doctor I’ve ever seen.”

  “He outran us,” Steph says. “We almost had him, though.”

  “Outsmarted us,” Danny says. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out an ID badge and shows it to me. The laminated badge says EDEN AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL in big, bold letters. Below it is a photograph of a mousy-looking man with a thick, graying handlebar mustache. His face is ruddy. Skin hangs below his chin. He is wearing a lab coat and smiling uneasily. I reckon everyone smiled uneasily in Eden, but this does not look like a man who could outsmart or outrun anyone. It definitely doesn’t look like a man who could survive in a wasteland such as the eastern coast of the United States. “Yeah,” Danny says, “he probably didn’t get far. I’d bet my life that his bones are scattered across Pennsylvania Avenue unless the rain already washed them down the gutter.”

  “Suffice to say,” Bud says, “this world ain’t gonna be saved anytime soon. Might as well embrace it, right, Frog Man?”

  Froggy nods fast. “I win,” he whispers.

  No, never, I think. Never.

  Steph titters, the thermometer back in her mouth. She looks like the type of woman who always has to have something in her mouth.

  Froggy bends over me. With his left hand, he lifts up my shirt. He runs the knife down my rib cage, which is now protruding from my flesh more prominently than it was before the world ended. It makes a sound like fingers brushing wooden blinds, slightly xylophonic. The blade is freezing cold, but I feel sweat running down the sides of my face. I try not to whimper. I don’t want to seem weak, but this fucking sucks. Plain and simple.

  “You shoulda kilt me,” Froggy says. “But I ain’t gonna make that same mistake. I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna enjoy every inch of you, Jack Jupiter. I’m gonna make a necklace out of your bones. Then, I’m gonna gather up my new friends and we’re gonna go invade the village you went off to. And we’re gonna string up that stupid, old nigger woman who shits out of her mouth with all that religious crap. I’m gonna find that pretty blonde bitch with the nice tits and pass her around and gut her when I’m all done. The other nigger — the big, dumb one — we’ll just shoot in the face because I don’t like dark meat. Never have. Never will.”

  The others are looking at him with uneasy smiles.

  I’m flexing every last muscle in my body, trying to get out of these straps, knowing it’s pointless and I’m not going anywhere. I should’ve killed him a long time ago. This is what I get for being the ‘good guy’ and letting him walk. The son of a bitch. The first
chance I get, I’m ripping out this bastard’s throat, throwing him to the zombies and laughing as they rip him open. I’m —

  The blade pokes my flesh. I’m gritting my teeth so hard they are just few more pounds of pressure away from turning to bone dust. The others crowd around me, their eyes big and wide, craving the sight of more blood. Drifting in through the cracks in the greenhouse’s windows is the scent of rotten air and the low groans of zombies ambling about, looking for their next meal, clueless that a buffet is awaiting them on top of a building right next door. I feel the warm liquid drip down the sides of my stomach. I groan, seconds away from passing out.

  “Start with the balls, Frog Man!” Steph says. She puts the thermometer back in her mouth. I’m dimly aware that the temperature gauge has moved a whole lot since the stake was inside of my leg. My blood’s been cold a long time.

  “All right, all right,” Froggy says. “Hold his leg down.”

  Bud comes around the table while Froggy unstraps my leg. My balls have crawled up inside of my stomach. If they rip open my pants, they’re going to see a whole lot of nothing. Bud grabs my leg, right where the bloody hole is in my upper thigh. I scream out as white-hot pain blurs my vision. There goes all chances of fighting back. I feel paralyzed, unable to move or kick my way free.

  Froggy fumbles at my fly like a drunk, the blade all too close to my manhood. But I won’t beg him to stop, I’ll look him straight in the eyes as he cuts me up and eats me. They’ll not get the satisfaction.

  I hear my zipper going down, feel rough, cold hands pressing up against my skin. Laughter. Pain in my leg. Bright eyes staring at me in anticipation.

  Now, I’m basically naked and my balls haven’t gone into hiding like they were supposed to. Steph chuckles again, looking at me with an amused expression on her face. She takes the meat thermometer, and for a split second, my mind explodes with phantom pain because I think she’s going to shish kebab my junk. Instead, she just holds the thermometer up next to my downstairs area and laughs. “Not bad,” she says. “A bigger meal than I expected.”

 

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