by Bonds, Javan
Dashing at the remainder of the enemy, Paul used a hand to vault over the bar. As his feet touched the ground, his machete slashed the closest revenant. Monsters whined as he continually hacked. Obviously intimidated by whatever was injuring so many of their fellows, the others chose not to answer the calls. Maybe they would just rather lap up vinegar than assist their dying brethren. Either way, no undead reinforcements bothered him while he happily sliced up more than a half dozen blue bodies.
Those with the ability to move, scrambled in an attempt to flee from the insane pale one. Nearest to the kitchen, one thought it might get lucky and escape. Barely able to retain its footing in the slick blood covering the floor, it couldn’t run, only slipping and sliding. Malnourished bones fractured as it continually crashed against the hard tile. Reaching out for the doorframe to pull itself away, Paul hammered his steel into its upper back, bursting lungs and sending it into cardiac arrest.
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Finally, he detected no more movement from the reanimants. After getting a rainstorm worth of infected blood out of the truly dead bodies, he stood for a moment, in complete peace. Maybe Paul was too drenched in peevie fluid for them to notice he was still alive, or maybe they were just waiting for him to come to them. He bent down to feel Virginia’s nonexistent pulse. Before he touched her cooling skin, he could tell the score by the caved in spot on her skull.
“Motherfuckers!” he whispered, just audibly.
Next, he walked back around the bar to retrieve his propane tank and grill starter. “Now they’ll get some justice!”
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35
And Blood Spilling
Finally outta the fucking station. Guess those babies think that Salzman is their fucking nanny! Don’t know why they need someone to do all the work for them. Not like there’s a fucking rampant crime spree overtaking the island. Actually... never mind.
Okay, there is. At least, I can say that... unofficially. Most of the people might be good little sheep. Their beatific Shepherd, though... he’s a fucking criminal mastermind. Either they were born blind, or he knows how to keep the fucking wool over their eyes. Motherfucker’s snatching up their kids right under their damn noses.
When they find out, it’ll probably be too late. Not just for their damn little angels. The spilled blood’ll be on their fucking hands... just as much as it is for Jim Jones in the cowboy hat. Sure as shit’s in his stomach!
Once they get smart, how will they react? Will it mean fucking anything to them? Will they lash out at their holy Reverend? Like it’ll make a fucking difference! They’ve been following a fucking madman for so long, they might as well have a damn piece of person on their own plate. Nothing can make up for what they’ve let go on right in fucking front of them.
I’m through thinking about this shit for tonight... today... motherfucker! Only thing left to do is fall onto the bed, wearing the same fucking clothes I’ve had on since yesterday. Sleep a few hours. Do the same goddamn shit next time I open my eyes. Rinse and fucking repeat. Don’t think I’ve ever even bothered turning on anything more than just the fucking reading lamp beside the bed. I could put the lights on once in a while, but fuck it!
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36
When the Fire Comes Down
Surely, the animals could see him as he walked quietly into the kitchen. None of them moved or even breathed. Even he waited for his eyes to adjust to the pitch before raising his improvised flamethrower. With two fingers of one hand, he rotated the handle on the release cut off. As it whistled, he clicked the grill starter in front of the nozzle with his other hand. Light exploded in the disgusting room as he burned shit and shit covered creatures. Though it didn’t spew flammable liquid like a traditional flamethrower, it burned skin and hair when making contact.
Panicked, the undead rushed for the exit. Crazed, lusting for inflicting pain, Rawlings laughed as he chased. The stunt hadn’t actually killed a single enemy, but it scared the watery shit out of them. After all the singed ghouls ran from the door, he quickly locked it. Now, he would make a final run through the building to make sure all the injured and dying were permanently dead.
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37
Babies
The Medicine Man and The Old Friend were chosen to guard The Protector’s wife through another lock. Though most of these have been entirely uneventful, she would still have two bodyguards on each trek. There were fewer and fewer peevies the further south they went, perhaps they would soon be able to go for at least the entire day without being exposed to blue, excrement covered genitals.
Darth Vader and Storm were met at the end of the gangplank by their third compatriot, Daredevil in a wheelchair, complete with monkey on his shoulder. Of course, Bradley threw himself over the rope ladder and had already scanned the immediate area before the other two touched boots on the ground, “Only blue I seen since we got here is the sky! Maybe we’ll be lucky today.” Doubtful.
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Mo looked over the railing, shaking his head. One of our most valuable assets ventures into no man’s land all the time. Only a thin layer of leather prevents the Cora from becoming stranded between a set of locks on the river upon her death. She adamantly refuses to outfit herself as a storm trooper, space marine, or anything badass like that! I don’t understand why Easy doesn’t demand his wife wear more protection. Maybe Gene’s seen her open enough locks and dams to be able to figure it out after she gets infected.
Not that Bradley ain’t important. He’s just less likely to be very threatened by a blunatic, always has an arsenal of firepower on his chair. And Dr. George’s the fucking dark lord of the Sith! They’ve both got melee weapons that could pulverize several zombies at once. She’s got an assagi!
I remember that conversation when Bradley first decided to wear the red spandex .
“But Daredevil’s blind! You can’t wear that!”
The Old Friend grinned. “Yeah, but I’m in a wheelchair. Handicaps are handicaps. Plus the “D”, kind of looks like a “B.” I’m pretty sure I’d be hunted down by the ACLU if I said something like that!
Well, at least I don’t have to see any blue penis today. They amazingly didn’t draw my name. I guess they took most of the cards out of the hat. Most of the cards have my name on them, by the way! And shit, I don’t even know if they have a hat. Hell, they might even let Mary choose the defenders. That would be kind of interesting. Maybe – I should find out how they come to the decision. Nah, that’d take a minuscule amount of effort!
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The protagonists entered the eerily quiet lock. A sign on the door marked David Renfroe Memorial Lock oriented them to their location. At least things seem somewhat clean upon a first glance. Perhaps it would be easy, once more. Get in, get out. Not according to The Screenwriter.
A completely clean area, possibly an office, featuring a long, oval desk extending the length of the room was the first enclosure they entered. Well, actually not clean. It had been manned by a person bitten. A pile of clothes and dried feces clung to the office chair, desktop, and every exposed surface. It was majorly tidy, though.
This human didn’t fall and rise again as a reanimated corpse until coming to work. Perplexing anyone could go on with their daily life after suffering a bite. Did the person really get attacked before ignoring the wound and coming to their place of employment? Maybe it wasn’t a bite being treated with antibiotic ointment and a band-aid. Possibly, there was more to the story than assumed.
Passing through a few more rooms completely unassailed, they discovered nothing noteworthy besides the fact things grew grimier with each step. As they moved down a darkened hallway, lit only by their rifle mounted flashlight beams, The Innocent’s tail became rigid. Bradley knew she was alerted. The others grew still, understanding something was happening.
Daredevil’s fist shot up before whispering. “Hang on! Mary’s got something.”
Freezing, the protagonists held their bre
aths, trying to listen for anything suspicious. Faint whimpering could be heard from the other side of a door caked with dark excrement. Investigation would be required. They weren’t alone.
Stepping to the sealed portal, Dr. George listened closely. Heavy breathing was overlaid by forceful grunting, heaving, and painful squeals. Was it a woman giving birth? Maybe two infected performing coitus?
Grabbing the lever and pulling gently, he found it stuck. A few more tries, using more force with each attempt, the door wouldn’t budge. Finally, he wrapped both armored hands around the latch and tugged. The door opened with a sucking noise. If not already falling back, the horrendous smell would’ve surely knocked him down.
The enclosure before them resembled a scene from the movie Alien that Bradley had recently watched with The Tech. What was once a room was now a cave, coated in gooey filth. Even stalagmites and stalactites built from diarrhea could be seen throughout the musky cavern. Blackened walls seemed to almost breathe.
In one corner, there was a huge pile of bones. It included a few human skulls, picked entirely clean and sprayed with putrid nasty. In the opposite corner featured some sort of eviscerated mammal. Other than the fact that it was hairy, it was impossible to tell what the creature had been, so dismembered and covered in body fluid was the carcass. At least it wasn’t a human child. Probably.
Along one wall, the caked, dried feces were molded into what appeared to be a large pedestal or stage. A female peevie perched atop this platform, squatting with its back against the wall, forcefully groaning. This female’s stomach was swollen.
Apparently pushing, the blunatic was dripping a cloudy substance mixed with blood from between its legs. With each straining heave, black liquid sprayed onto the wall behind it. Continuing to push, it was barely stifling screams as its eyes watered. The beast was about to expel... something.
Though aware of the suited figures watching its birthing in amazement, the revenant was unable to attack or even call out, only able to hiss. Clearly, it wanted to be free of the pain inside it so it could destroy these intruders. Just as the head of the newborn monster began to crown, The Old Friend launched three quick shots from his pistol into the female.
First round hit just below the belly button. Tearing into the monster, it freed all the plumbing that was so tense, allowing it to spill out beneath. The second shot grazed the top of the burgeoning stomach, impacting the torso right below the sternum. Liquefying bone and tissue as it passed through organs, the bullet exploded out the back, sinking into the wall. Number three caught the monster directly between the swollen breasts. Becoming full of milk for its offspring, they exploded as the piece of lead ripped through its chest cavity. All heart activity immediately ceased.
“Nooooo!” Darth Vader screamed, clenching his fists, he wanted to start tearing things apart. Turning to Bradley, he exhaled deeply. “Why did you do that?”
Bradley shrugged. “I’ve seen Alien! The babies move fast. You really want it to latch on your face after mama shit the thing out?”
Shaking his head, The Medicine Man sighed heavily. Though I wished to have studied the fetus, perhaps Bradley is right. Maybe a newborn infected would come out ready for the hunt. He turned away, realizing even if he was able to salvage tissue samples from the remains, there would doubtfully be anything enlightening discovered.
Before exiting the room, Aka spoke in her usual calm tone. “You know they heard that.”
Bradley stopped, knowing she was right. “Dammit! Yeah. Well, we should probably get ready for some visitors.”
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Moving further into the birthing room, they noticed the truly dead female still occasionally twitching, nervous system firing its last few impulses. Both superheroes backed into opposite corners. The Sith lord stepped backwards into the wall, a few feet distant between each of his allies. All had their rifles trained on the door.
Animal calls were growing in intensity, anticipating the taste of humans. Reeking excrement became nearly overpowering as the barking undead approached. The cardiologist placed his back against the wall, nearly falling through it as it collapsed.
Caked up black had been covering a door. Caving under any added pressure, the thin, wooden door had softened to a mush under layers of bowel butter. Without such an accident, the portal would have never been located. What skilled direction!
Dr. George turned to see a small office lit by a single window near the ceiling. Completely pristine, this room hadn’t been defiled by the reanimants. Nocturnal, at least until about a month after May Day, the infected must’ve simply stayed out of this room after the initial outbreak due to the natural light from the window. By the time they became tolerant of sunlight, the room was forgotten, sealed off by dung.
As he stepped into the room, the practitioner made a noise of surprise, alerting the other two of his discovery. A desk was on the opposite wall, with another door on the adjacent. Opening it, he found a similar room with another door. It was strange, being in rooms untouched by absolutely anything since May 1.
Bradley closed each door behind them, hopefully preventing the monsters from tracking them. Beastial howls growing fainter with each passing room, it seemed to be working. They entered one of the last rooms with a window. On the floor laid a human skeleton, clothing ripped to shreds around it. All the remnants of the body were strangely absent. One thing worth noticing was nearby. A dead bird. The fowl had simply dried up and died, bright blue feathers encircled the creature on the floor.
Was this avian infected? That could explain the atrocious excreta sprayed around the room. Also, the countless wreckage, proving someone tried to vainly defend themselves. This brings up countless questions.
If birds can be infected, could they transfer the virus through body fluid? Was the human unable to fight off the small, winged attacker? That would explain why the human bones are picked clean. To get answers, I must research!
Finally, they came to a darkened hallway with only spattered feces as evidence the undead existed. The doctor ran his beam of light across the opposite wall to see a painted sign. “CONTROL ROOM” and an arrow pointing right. This was nearly too easy. Nearly.
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After a few more steps, the company came to the door they sought. The dark suited figure stepped forward to turn the handle, stopping when he heard an unmistakable noise. A human baby was crying.
The MD mentally stepped back. It is doubtfully a human baby. More likely, it is the young of infected. Strangely, it does not seem to growl or chitter. Actually, it sounds exactly like an unafflicted newborn.
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Moving back from the door, Darth Vader tilted his helmeted head to the very next entry way. There were several sets of footprints mashed out through layers of dried manure, the room had obviously been entered and exited numerous times over an extended period. Judging by the varied sizes of footprints, the enclosure was traveled through often, by many infected. He stepped over to gently pull the door open.
An expectant inhalation could be heard from several toothless mouths within the room. A few seconds later, shrill cries from infants could be heard. Realizing Dr. George didn’t come bearing sustenance, they repeatedly called out in surprise. This was a nursery! It had not yet been nine months or anywhere close to it. Females impregnated after infection could not have possibly given birth, but these sucklings had surely been born to afflicted mothers.
Standing in a room lined with leaf bedding, the protagonists were at a loss. Having difficulty aiming their rifles at what would have been children only a short time ago, they just looked on stupidly at the screaming demon seed. Barely mobile, the infants attempted to crawl and roll themselves in the direction of the humans. Mere seconds passed when panicked screams could be heard from outside.
Mama was coming!
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Unwilling to commit infanticide, the three humans pushed the infected infants away, readying for another brawl. Angry monsters could be heard
running at full speed down the hall, bare feet smacking on concrete and blackened waste. Peevies poured into the room when the door was ripped from its hinges. Maybe it will not be easy after all.
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We will not allow our offspring to be harmed by the ones that have unnatural coverings on their bodies. Interlopers will be eviscerated and slowly devoured with delight! Pieces of bloody meat will be ripped from the still living pale ones, chewed into a nearly liquefied paste. Then, we will feed the young ones as the humans watch themselves be slowly masticated, eventually expelled as excrement!
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All three repeatedly fired at the open door, making the zombies pay for every inch. Aka squeezed off rounds from her SKS, blowing chunks from countless ghouls. Simultaneously, The Old Friend sent both barrels of his twin stagecoaches into the entryway. Mary stood on his shoulder, ready to drop shells into the open breach when he lifted it to accept more ammunition. Spent magazines clattering onto the caked peevie poop at his feet, The Medicine Man unloaded his automatic submachine gun. Blunatics pushed closer as the bodies continued to pile.
Destroyed blue bodies would’ve blocked the door if the infected hadn’t continually dragged them away. Not doing so to honor the fallen, the corpses were simply an obstacle. Bloodied organs, bile, and running feces mixed together to form a gray, cloudy goo under the uncountable dead reanimants. The runny paste became a gelatin, clomping around downed zombies. Enemies only wounded and not instantly killed by the wall of lead hammering them were put out of their misery by the buckshot continually ripping through the toppled carcasses. If the flow didn’t stem soon, the suited figures would have to switch to hand to hand weapons.