by Bonds, Javan
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Realizing this, Bradley shoved his sawed-off shotguns under the chair and reached behind him to lift Lucille. He knew he had to carry Negan’s melee weapon from The Walking Dead, seeing it in Gene’s collection. The Louisville slugger wrapped with razor-sharp barbed wire was dented and nicked from the countless bones it had broken, skulls it crushed. Reaching out with his death dealing tool, bringing his arm across his body, he judged his extent of inflicting pain.
Most would be surprised Bradley’s capuchin helper monkey was equipped with her very own melee weapon. There was always a chance she would be the last line of defense. It was fitting The Tech equipped her with a Romulan throwing dagger. The small, sheathed blade fit perfectly on the collar around her waist. Without claws or teeth, she would at least be able to stab at her enemy with something much more substantial.
Decidedly, The Medicine Man chose not to use grenades, being only on the other side of the room from where the explosions would be launching shrapnel. Emptying his final magazine, he lifted his medieval mace from over his shoulder. The simple, ugly device could hand out punishment like nobody’s business. Dark, spiked heads on each end of the barbaric weapon of destruction would rip flesh and crush bones. Testifying to the brutality of this weapon, the thick, wooden shaft between the two was stained deep with blood.
As the wife of The Protector dropped her last SKS mag, she lifted a brand rarely seen on this side of the world. It was an iklwa, a traditional African Zulu thrusting spear. Some would compare it to a short sword on a wooden hilt. Carved into the end of the pommel was LL, the original, deceased owner of the steel. Bradley almost chuckled; it looked strange in the hands of a beautiful, innocent looking woman like Aka.
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A lone blunatic charged at The Old Friend and he readied Lucille for a homerun. Just as the monster came into range, it was met with the force of a train smashing into its face. Bones were pulverized into powder. Shards of teeth bounced against the far wall.
Bat came away, pulling bloodied flesh, stringing mucus, and steaming saliva along with it. Dangling loosely to the side, the lower jaw was held on only by skin. Blood poured from the never to be closed again mouth. Every bone on the right side of the face below the orbital socket was smashed into the left.
So firmly, no amount of reconstructive surgery could ever make the face look anywhere near normal again. Almost funny, the nose was nearly touching the left ear. If it ever came into reach, Bradley would have hit it again. Tongue plopped out the hole that was its mouth before the creature collapsed, unable to handle the intense pain.
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Dr. George dealt with his own couple of attackers. Hitting both simultaneously in the ribs with the staff of his mace, he heard several bones crack and ruptured organs burst. Oxygen could be heard rushing from infected lungs. Breath would never again be enjoyed by these demons.
Assessing their injuries, the revenants fell back. Ready for war, the cardiologist pressed forward. He slammed one head of the mace upward, sending heavy spikes into one animal’s blue face to puncture a yellow eye. Jerking his weapon of choice back, he ripped away skin, cartilage, and a sickly yellow eyeball.
Forcefully, The Medicine Man thrust the other end of his mace into the head of the second creature. Before the body hit the floor, he turned his tool in an elliptical motion. It crushed the skull of the now concussed infected, supine on the floor. With glee, he noticed the herd was thinning.
Looking at the scourge he just knocked unconscious, he would’ve known without turning his head it had already voided its bowels. Allowing it to meet true death, he slammed the flat, metal end cap down onto the already cracked skull. All brain activity ceased as what looked like gray scrambled eggs squirted from the nostrils and gaping mouth.
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Akambiya moved to stand close to The Old Friend, slashing and hacking at the demons, using her iklwa like a classical sword. While she minced beasts to ribbons, he bludgeoned them with Lucille. She caught one of the peevies with the point of her thrusting spear. Drawing crimson, the spike stabbed into the creature’s right cheek between the teeth. Automatically, it clinched its jaws, attempting to sling its head and free itself from the blade.
This caused indescribable agony, forcing the reanimated corpse to push its head back against the spike, driving the spear deeper. The action resulted in even more pain. Not understanding what was happening, the beast cried out. Soon, the excruciating sensation would stop.
When it opened its mouth to scream, the weapon was free. Aka turned the blade before bringing it down onto its shoulder. Razor edge tore into muscle, sliding into the shoulder joint. Only pushing the blade deeper into its body, the animal attempted to back away. Massive amounts of arterial blood gushed as the wound tore even wider. She wrenched the blade free to see the arm hanging from the body by nothing more than skin and a few tendons.
The African beauty recoiled in horror before Bradley slammed Lucille upwards into the beast’s genitals. Two popping noises were heard as testicles ruptured, spilling fluid onto the floor. Growling through the pain, it was about to lurch at the man in the Daredevil costume. Suddenly, Aka straightened her arm and sliced her iklwa through the connection between the body and cranium of the creature.
Time seemed to almost cease when the blade went cleanly through meat and bone. Yellow eyes turned to gaze in the direction of the killing blow, ghoul still alive for the briefest of moments. Eyes rolling back into their sockets, head slid squarely to the floor. Blood began pumping from the now geysering stump. It let out a few arterial sprays before the orbless cadaver slumped to the ground.
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The humans tore through blue, shit covered, emaciated creature after yellow-eyed, diseased, unwashed revenant. By the time the blunatics slowed to a trickle, they were at the point of exhaustion. A final zombie slowly approached on rickety legs. What had been an extremely old woman was now a scrawny, naked, filthy, starving cannibal. It approached The Old Friend first, being the closest human to the door. This would be a meaty lunch!
Bradley readied Lucille for another home run. The Innocent, though, saw no need to waste time. I’m ready to get back to the boat, dammit! Mary unsheathed the Romulan dagger from her tiny belt. From Bradley’s shoulder, she launched herself through midair. The tiny Sapajus apella seemed to float with ease, landing on the head of the blue, feces spewing former human. The surprised former geriatric tilted its head up to see what had just landed on its head. As it did, Mary brought the dagger up in both her tiny hands, driving the sharp blade into its left eye to the hilt. A popping sound could be heard as it burst before the knife continued into the brain. The last explosion of the thick oily crap, that was nearly always excreted, shot from its rear end splashing into fresh excrement. Dark paste trickled down its legs before it went rigid and fell forward, the seven-pound killer riding it to the floor. Just as the now-dead revenant hit the shit covered floor, Mary gently hopped off, pulling her dagger from the now-dead peevie. Shaking the blade clean, she re-sheathed it before bouncing back onto Bradley’s shoulder. Things happened as they were supposed to.
Looking at her with mouth agape, Aka couldn’t understand how a service monkey could so easily use deadly force.
Mary shrugged, cocked her head and grinned a toothless smile. All in a day’s work, lady. Now, let’s get!
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All three protagonists were almost out of the room when Darth Vader gasped. “The babies... They are gone!” Though completely spent, I wish I could have taken one subject back to the Viva Ancora for later study.
I doubt those tiny stricken could have possibly made their own way out of the room. Perhaps one of the adult infected simply scooped them all up while we were distracted. It would have been intriguing to dissect a developing afflicted. For certain, there will always be another dam!
Dr. George raked piles of blue, feces soaked bodies clear so the Old Friend was able to roll out. Bradley’s tires left
a trail in the disgusting soup at least an inch thick within the enclosure. This putrid adventure would be more nightmare fuel. None of the heroes ever feared being lost on any mission. It was simply another job, another day. Soon, maybe they would be free of the infected scourge. Maybe.
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Moving back to the control room, Storm nonchalantly pressed buttons and turned levers to open the lock. Getting through another barrier and receiving some exercise, this away team’s adventure was just as fruitful as most. They could look forward to soon not having to worry about clearing locks and dams upon reaching the ocean. A bright future was on the horizon. They were almost there.
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38
My Main
Trial Is Yet
To Come
Walking out of Hooter's kitchen, an idea came to Paul. Backpedaling before exiting, he grabbed one of the empty ranch dressing containers from a table. Leaning over and squeezing crimson from one of the fallen peevies, just outside the door, he filled the cup. Finally, he raked a shard of broken glass into the tiny container before snapping the lid onto it, shoving it into his pants. As he stepped over the bodies of all those infected and his now-deceased compatriots, Bill, Patti, and Robert, he knew now he had a way to assassinate the kingpin.
After running his blade across the throat of any zombie that still felt warm, he slowly made his way to the front door. With a few quick taps, he then spoke loudly. “Building's clear. I'm the only one left alive. Let me out!” He pulled on the front doors, almost falling over as the blocked doors swung open.
“Well, you made it. Good Job!” A member of The Hand spoke as he walked inside, with a curled nose.
“Thanks. Don't worry; they're all dead!”
Paul Rawlings could do nothing but smile with secret knowledge. I can't wait to shake Reaca's hand at the victory party tonight!
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39
Just Waitin’
Rawlings was barely given time to remove his bloody clothing. Of course, the majority of his outerwear would be incinerated, along with the destroyed bodies of his fellow assaulters. Though The Hand was cold and typically uncaring, they at least showed enough respect not to let the fallen simply rot where they dropped. After every battle, the zombies, unseen, always returned to gather their downed brethren. Seeming only to mimic the enemy out of spite, humans made sure to retrieve their killed before the undead could.
Because his recon group entered one of the last buildings on the final block, Paul was confident there would be some type of celebratory feast tonight. That is if the workers finished up today. Wasn’t a whole lot left. Fielder’s gotta show how he bravely led the city to safety and victory. Narcissistic bastard!
Already, he had been isolated in this hotbox the majority of the day. Most of his solitary confinement had to be over with soon. The sun had to be close to setting. The only good thing is, at least I didn’t have to work! Too bad I don’t have a bloody watch!
Guess that old bloke, Mortimer, or whatever his name is on board with us. I had just enough time to pass that cup to him before they took me. Now, I’ll be in this damn semi-trailer a few more hours until they figure out I’m not infected. Maybe I’ll get out in time to get to talk to Our Dear Leader. About time he gets what’s coming to him.
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40
Wolves Can Be Sly
The Fredericks family lived right on the lake. For what seemed like the past century, everyone in the city, county, and even beyond, knew this old house was the place to get honey. Was the owner of the property a first generation bee man, or was it a family tradition? Regardless, Fredericks was the honey king.
Until recently, that is. Whether it was simply old age or loss of interest, Mr. Fredericks took down all his beehive boxes, getting out of the business entirely. Occasionally, an old timer or someone desperate for sweets paid a visit to the waterfront home. There were plenty of rumors, but it was never actually proven fact if any of these visitors left with any honey.
Because the truth was never discovered, legend of the famous honeybee man was mentioned here and there, even in post apocalypse Guntersville. Just because the world was officially over didn’t mean survivors weren’t still addicted to sugar. When Brother Mike Brown was made aware of the local fable, he jumped at the chance to take a church group of scavengers across the water to search for some sticky, golden goodness.
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Like on every outing, family groups were encouraged to bring their children. Being so close to the island, the chances of a peevie coming out into the daylight were slim. Also, scatterings of bleach, armed guardians, and proximity to water meant this mission would be safer than most.
Unlike on some of the previous assignments, very few church members were selected as re-claimers. The Wolf was tired of fucking around with these retards. His true motive would be achieved. Nothing else mattered. Safety was reinforced with these naïve Christians more times than I can count!
Safe... from the undead. Overall, the gullible parents on each mission were far from danger. Their children, though, were only brought along as cattle for The Wolf to pick and choose from, especially the young daughter of one of the faithful followers. Eve Peacock had been chosen as the decided target on this trip.
No one paid attention to the fact that after most every scouting mission under the protective leadership of Brother Brown, the blonde child reported missing in the days following was part of the accompaniment. One with the absurd gall to even suggest the pure hearted minister was to blame for the disappearances would be labeled as the opposition, one who did not seek the will of God for the island. If not shot on the spot, such a hateful sinner would undoubtedly be forced out of the community.
There was room in the congregation for anyone. Every transgression could be forgiven. But such a preposterous accusation was worse than any deadly sin in existence. Not only would such a ludicrous allegation bring immediate banishment, the controversialist in question would surely be harshly penalized.
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“Nothing?” Mike Brown was shocked.
“Not a dang thing, preacher,” Jones came up from the stairwell to the basement, followed by his Christian brother, Alan Peacock. “Well, we did find some of these!” He held up an empty plastic container shaped like a teddy bear. The lid with a small, tapering nozzle proved they were obviously created for dispensing honey. “But every one of them was empty.”
Motherfucker! That means I have to season the meat some other way. Maybe I’ll go for Italian. Or Asian! Actually, we might have some Indian seasoning. Always wondered what one of those fuckers would taste like... Either way, it couldn’t be blonde. And the only ones in Guntersville are those goddamn adult soldiers. Wouldn’t eat that shit even if somebody gave it to me!
“At least we had a safe journey and got to spend time together. I’m sure there’s plenty of other stuff we can scrounge up!” With this conciliation, Alan, the man exiting the basement stairwell behind Jones, looked up the stairs to the second story of the house.
Smiling weakly, the supposed temporary replacement for The Man of God nodded. “Though we might not always get what we seek, the Lord provides.”
As he watched the scavengers head upstairs, he nearly chuckled. Goddamn right He does! I know what I’ll be taking home. Don’t give a shit what these stupid bastards come up with. Looks like they’ll be too busy sucking each other’s dicks in the master bathroom to notice me spending some quality time with tasty little Eve!
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Abruptly, the sermonizer appeared behind Eve. “What’s up?”
Nearly swallowing her tongue, the nine -year-old was surprised. For the briefest of seconds, she thought she was going to have to jump into the water. “Oh, just fishing.”
Why is Brother Brown bothering talking to me? Shouldn’t he be prostate sizing... Or whatever it was Mama called it? Maybe Daddy and Mr. Jones are about through getting all the honey. Gonna be so exciting
to have some of that candy Mama makes!
“You know, when I was your age, I loved doing the same thing, just sitting out on the pier with my feet hanging right over the water; pole in my hand. I was one of those kids that loved the silence. It looks to me like you’re the same way.” Wood creaked as the pastor sat down beside her.
Eve wasn’t sure what to say. After a moment of quiet, Mike continued. “I love your curly blonde hair. You know, my wife has the same color hair. Is it naturally curly or do you do something with it?”
She shrugged, warming up to an adult that was actually friendly to kids. “Of course not! Besides, Mama says hair treatments are getting hard to come by. But no, I’ve never done anything to change it.”
“Well, don’t. It’s beautiful just the way it is. Just the way you are!” He raised a finger and shoved a hand into his pants pocket. “Want some candy?”
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With the pickup in the driveway just beyond the carport, pointing at the road, neither survivor was able to see what Brother Brown was stuffing into the toolbox on the driver side of the truck bed. Coming out the front door of the house, Jones couldn’t help but groan. “There’s jewelry. Not any more than you would expect to find in most houses.” The scout barely contained a smile. “But Mr. Fredericks was obviously some kind of prepper...”