Zombie Apocalypse Series Books 1-3 (Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set)

by Jeff DeGordick

  He clutched his gun, unable to help, and staggered back to the side of the house, taking in the horror in front of him. He gripped the hair on the top of his head with a hand and he was too transfixed by the massacre that had played out to notice the killer stepping out from behind the house.

  The killer walked into the shed and came out a moment later holding a long scythe.

  Sarah gasped, wanting to articulate a warning to the bandit, but by the time she caught her breath, it already happened.

  The killer marched up behind the bandit just as he lowered his hand from his head. With great power and speed, the killer swung the scythe.

  The bandit's head was instantly separated from his shoulders and his body tipped over and collapsed to the ground immediately as his head spun and hung in the air for a split second before falling.

  Blood pumped out of the bandit's stump of a neck and soaked the snow in a huge crimson pool.

  The killer stood next to his corpse, holding the scythe and looking like the Grim Reaper himself. He faced Sarah, seeing her in her hiding spot. As the house burned and the screams stopped, the killer stood there and waited for her as blood dripped down from the scythe.

  Sarah's blood ran white under his gaze. She knew the game was over. She knew that there were no more tricks. It was her and the killer and only one of them would come out of it alive.

  She stepped out from behind the tree and walked into the clearing next to the burning house. She dropped the blanket on the snow and felt the intense heat from the fire warm her body. She faced the killer and stared at him as he stared back with his demented grin.

  They each held their weapons, ready for their final encounter.

  21

  Ashes in the Mouth

  The killer began to laugh and it sounded more sinister this time, more under his breath and to himself. It was like he knew that he finally had her cornered and there would be nothing she could do. The moonlight reflected off the blade of the scythe as it swayed slightly in his grip.

  Sarah's heart raced. The ice pick she held in her hand suddenly felt utterly inadequate, but still she clutched it for dear life. She wanted to run, but she knew there was nowhere to go. Her eyes stayed on the killer, ready to react to the smallest movement.

  The corners of the killer's mouth stretched up to his cheekbones. His eyes shined a crazy intensity at her, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

  A single snowflake fluttered down and landed on the tip of his nose, then more came down in a gentle fall, sprinkling white flakes on his greasy black hair. Sarah felt the wetness touch her skin, like nature was trying to remind them of its peacefulness. But the house next to them burned. Thick black clouds of smoke poured out in billowing waves. The last of the decapitated bandit's blood poured out of his body onto the snow, creating a small pond of red slush.

  The killer flew at her in a crazed run. His mouth hung open and his tongue dangled like a dog as he raised the scythe above his head.

  Sarah staggered backward out of instinct, her breath seizing in her lungs. The killer closed the gap almost immediately and started swinging the razor-sharp blade at her. The first swing missed her face by only inches as she rocked her head back. Another swing of the blade sailed over her head. Her heel slipped on the snow and she fell onto her butt as the killer swept the scythe behind his back, over his head, and drove it down as hard as he could.

  Sarah rolled out of the way and the blade stabbed deep into the ground. The killer yanked the handle, but it was stuck. Sarah scrambled up to her feet and lunged at him. She thrust the ice pick, but he leaned away from the strike and redirected her momentum with his shoulder, sending her face-first into the snow. She got to her feet as the killer tried to yank the blade out of the ground. She came up behind him and stabbed the ice pick into his back, driving it all the way to the handle.

  The killer grunted and clubbed her in the face with the back of his fist.

  Stars swam in front of her eyes as she hit the ground again. She shook it off and got to her feet, her legs wobbling.

  The killer paid no attention to the ice pick sticking out of his back as he finally pulled the scythe out of the ground. He turned around and marched toward her, holding it evenly in both hands.

  Sarah hobbled away, looking over her shoulder at his approaching figure. The glances of him she caught in her peripheral vision painted him as a lurking shadow like the one she saw in her dream.

  The shed stood in front of her, and it was the only place around for her to hide. She ran into the dark interior, frantically looking around for something to bar the large metal handles on the inside of the doors as the killer came for her. She saw a bundled length of rope sitting on the workbench against the wall and quickly unraveled it, sliding the doors shut and working in the darkness to wrap the rope around the handles.

  Just as she was finishing a tight knot, the doors rattled as the killer tried to pull them open from outside. When Sarah was sure that they were secure, she backed away from the door, bumping into items shrouded in the dark.

  The rattling stopped and silence followed it.

  A loud bang echoed in the small wooden shed as the tip of the scythe's blade pierced through one of the metal doors.

  Sarah jumped in terror and stumbled away from the door, tripping and landing on something sharp. She cried out in pain, peeling her lower back off of it and feeling the object behind her. The shape suggested it was a pitchfork, and she touched her fingers to her back and felt tears in her shirt and blood. The pain stung, but it was only a shallow wound.

  The tip of the scythe wiggled in the door and was yanked out, leaving a small tear in the metal and letting in a single beam of orange light from outside. Another bang rocked the shed as the blade came through the door again, this time a little farther. The killer wiggled it around and removed it, leaving a big gash in the door. He walked up to it and peeked through with bulging eyes.

  Sarah screamed. The small, dark space was making her claustrophobic and she imagined the feeling was akin to being buried alive and hearing the final nails being driven into her coffin.

  The curved blade came through the door again, burying halfway into it. The loud crashing sound of vibrating metal was followed immediately by a loud snap as the blade broke off the handle.

  Sarah could see the edge of the killer's face through the hole in the door as he tried to remove the blade. It jiggled back and forth between the sheared metal, but he couldn't get it out. Finally, he stopped and stared into the shed. She could hear his raspy breathing as he looked for her in the darkness, then he disappeared from view.

  Sarah grabbed the pitchfork behind her and pointed it toward the doors. A single bead of sweat ran down her temple as she waited, breathless.

  Silence hung in the air for a while underneath the wind whistling through the hole in the door and the ravenous fire outside. Then there was a strained sound like wood being torn off of something. A few moments later, Sarah started to hear something else. It crackled and popped, and it almost sounded like it was right next to her.

  She felt the heat and smelled the pungent smoke seeping into the shed. The interior lit up as an orange glow covered the wall next to her, coming in through the cracks in the boards. She had trapped herself inside, and now she was being burned alive.

  The killer let out a mad giggle from outside as Sarah screamed, overwhelmed by the torment that was coming for her. She felt so helpless and afraid. All of her efforts leading up to this point seemed so futile as she waited for the encroaching fire to consume her. Every moment of desperateness and sorrow since she first crossed paths with the killer revisited her, and she saw every demented look on his face, felt every ounce of fear just as strongly as the first time she had felt it. She was tired of being helpless and scared in such a cruel world. She no longer wanted to be weak and unable to fight for herself. She was tired of being the victim to all of the world's madmen. But the thought was nothing more than ironic as she had this epiphany just
before burning to death.

  Then a voice came to her from somewhere deep inside that told her it didn't have to be that way. She didn't know what it was or exactly where she had summoned it from, but it was the same strength that had visited her in the barn after her botched suicide attempt. It spoke with such a shining truth that she felt it in the very core of her soul. Whatever spirit was working through her, it suddenly gathered all the strength she had up to the surface, like it was covering her body in a coat of armor. She heard the killer's giggles and saw the fire spreading around her and the rope tied around the handles, locking her inside, and it brought up a burning feeling in her that was part rage and part determination.

  Sarah got up to her feet and stood proud like she hadn't ever hurt before as she held the pitchfork in her hands. She untied the knot and pulled the rope away, then slid open the metal doors.

  The cold air outside greeted her and was a welcome reprieve to the intense heat that cooked her.

  She stepped out into the snow and looked around to find the killer gone. She looked down at his footsteps to see where he went, but in the next moment something clocked her in the back of the head and she dropped to the ground. Her vision went black as the light struggled to regain control. A strong, dull ache consumed the back of her skull and she pressed a hand to it in agony. She looked up and saw the killer standing behind her, holding a plank of wood.

  He dropped it onto the ground and crawled onto her body like a snake, his hands feeling and grabbing everywhere. He ran his nose up her torso to her neck, sniffing the whole way, letting out a grunt and salivating over her. He groped her breasts with one hand as he squeezed her mouth between the thumb and fingers of his other one, trying to pry it open as he began to lick her face.

  Sarah tried to roll her head away as he made his way to her closed mouth, trying to insert his tongue into it again. She bucked her hips and threw her elbow, catching him right in the jaw. His head bounced around and she drove her elbow into his cheek on the backswing.

  His body rolled off her and was caught in the top of the chest by a hard heel. He grimaced and Sarah crawled for the pitchfork. The killer stood up and picked up the plank of wood, carrying it over to the shed and holding the end of it to the flames. It ignited and created a burning torch as the flames slowly stretched across the wood.

  Sarah grabbed the pitchfork and got to her feet, wiping the killer's vile saliva off her face with her arm. She turned to face him just as he came running at her, swinging the burning plank. The fire brushed by her face as she stepped back to dodge it. He swung it again down at her neck and she stepped out of the way, swinging the pitchfork like a club and knocking the plank out of his hands. It sailed through the air and landed in the snow, the fire still flickering from the end of it. As the killer stood stunned for a moment from the blow, Sarah stepped forward and thrust the pitchfork at him, stabbing him in his hip and the top of his thigh.

  He pulled himself off the sharp tines and fell onto the ground.

  A blinding fury came over Sarah as she dropped the pitchfork on the ground. She went over and picked up the burning plank of wood, then marched up to the killer and started beating him with it.

  The blows rained down on his body as he held his arms up in front of his head to protect himself. He let out a quiet grunt here and there, but it seemed like the pain wasn't affecting him like it would a normal human.

  The fire burned him with each strike and his jacket immolated. It quickly spread to the rest of his body and he shot up to his feet like a frog and walked away from Sarah in an awkward, stilted way.

  She dropped the plank into the snow and picked up the pitchfork again, following him with the grace and keen predatory poise of a jaguar stalking its prey.

  When the killer neared the cliff at the edge of the property, he dropped to his knees and began rolling around in the snow. His legs kicked like a swimmer and his arms swung around, trying to snuff out the blaze. Eventually it was extinguished and singed hairs and fibers sent up tiny wisps of smoke into the air. He lay on his back, looking haggard, his eyes staring up at the sky.

  Sarah stood over him just like the shadow that had been following her for so long. She raised the pitchfork and plunged it down, stabbing him in the stomach.

  The killer's body rocked as his shoulders lifted off the snow. He let out a sharp burst of air between pursed lips. A weak smile clung to his face, but it was starting to fade.

  Sarah stepped on his leg and used it to pull the pitchfork out of him. Thin ribbons of blood clung to the tines before falling away and splashing over his body and the snow. She stabbed him again.

  His shoulders rocked and he spit out blood in a bright spray. He turned his head and looked at her, his smile gone. He just watched her, expressionless, as she pulled the tool out of his midsection and stabbed it down into his shoulder. His arm spasmed and his fingers curled tightly as his body began to convulse.

  The blinding rage coursed through her as she stabbed him over and over, perforating his torso and paying him back for everything he did to her. Blood soaked into the snow around him like he had attempted to make a ghastly snow angel. It seeped out the corners of his mouth and he started to lose consciousness.

  Sarah paused as his own blood dripped down onto him from the tines, and she stared at his miserable form. Then the last bit of blood-boiling rage bubbled up inside of her and pushed her over the edge.

  The pitchfork rose high into the air as if being blessed by the moon itself, then Sarah drove it down as hard as she could into his chest. The sharp prongs sunk deep into his flesh and pools of blood sprung up and oozed out from around them, running down over his body.

  The killer let out his death rattle as the life in him was extinguished. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his arms splayed out onto the snow beside him, his fingers uncurling.

  Sarah stepped away from him, taking in all that she'd done. The pitchfork stuck straight up from him like a gravestone marking his final resting place. She sank to her knees and fell forward onto her elbows, lowering her head to the snow. Tears came out of her eyes, but she wasn't crying. It was like the last vestiges of weakness and sorrow being expunged from her for good. She let the catharsis run through her as she wept for everything that had happened in her life, including the lifeless killer in front of her and the blazing house behind her.

  The killer sat up.

  Sarah's gaze slowly dragged across the snow and up his body, unable to process what she was seeing.

  He seemed dazed for a moment, then he looked down at the pitchfork sticking out of his chest. He grabbed the handle and weakly pulled it out, dropping it onto the ground beside him.

  Shock came over Sarah and then the fury came back. Her body was beyond exhaustion and she couldn't take the maddening torment anymore. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" she screamed. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!"

  The killer rolled over onto his hands and knees, coughing up blood onto the soft blanket of snow. He turned his head toward her and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He raised a weak arm and pointed at her chest.

  Confusion came over her, not understanding what he meant.

  "I want... what's in you," he said, his speech quiet and uneven. His voice still held its rich timbre, and there wasn't an ounce of agony in it.

  "What's... in me?" Sarah repeated, speechless. "What do you mean?"

  He looked up at the woods lining the edge of the cliff in front of him. "I can... smell it," he said. He pressed a hand to the side of his head. "It hurts today."

  "What does?" Sarah asked. She couldn't believe he was actually talking, and she was further stunned by the cryptic nature of his message.

  His eyes swept across the top of the tree line back and forth as if he were searching for an answer. "What they did to me," he said. "They... wanted me to find you."

  "What?" she uttered, her eyes widening. "Who's 'they'?"

  The killer pushed himself up to his feet with a slow and rolling grunt.
His back arched as he stumbled on the spot, his blood-soaked body basking in the moonlight and the glow of the fire as a gentle snow continued to fall. He walked toward the cliff and stopped at the edge, looking out over the vast landscape.

  Sarah waited on her hands and knees, staring up at the killer and desperately waiting for answers.

  He turned around and looked at her, coughing again as more blood came out of his mouth. He pressed a hand to his chest and watched as the blood oozing out coated it in a shiny red glove. The demented smile came back to his face, but softer and more languid than before. "This was fun," he said weakly.

  Then he turned and walked off the cliff, his body sinking like a stone and disappearing from view. A few seconds later, a distant thud came from below.

  Sarah stared at the cliff in disbelief. He couldn't be gone; he didn't tell her what he meant when he said someone was looking for her. She scrambled to her feet and ran to the edge of the cliff.

  The rock face ran down a good fifty feet before reaching the ground, and at the bottom, mangled and surrounded by a large splatter of blood, was the killer. His face was crushed against the rock he landed on, and all his limbs looked twisted and broken. Despite being unflinching and unceasing before, there was no doubt that he was finally dead.

  Sarah stepped away from the cliff and sunk down onto the ground. She looked around blankly as the shock still rattled her.

  The shed burned and the house burned, and all the bodies inside had perished into ash, being carried out onto the wind and falling with the snow. She was reminded of the dream she had, running from the shadow through fiery fields of ashen corpses and the charred house they formed. It was an unblemished reflection of not only her destiny with the killer, but also of the miserable and decrepit state of her life. It was a life of waste and suffering with no end. Through all the torment, she was left with no answers and nothing to show for her terrible experience. And though the sereneness of nature laid its tender hand upon her shoulder in a gentle snowfall, it carried with it the senseless death and destruction that forever cursed the world, leaving a dark and bitter taste like ashes in the mouth.