Flesh Ravenous : A Zombie Horror Series -Book 2

by James M. Gabagat

  Lawrence scanned the dead girl with the light, examining her. “What the fuck happened to this one?” When the beam shined between her thighs, Lawrence quickly pulled the light away.

  “Oh God,” said Ally. She buried her nose and mouth into her arm to muffle her sickened moans. She started to cry. I can’t handle this, she thought, I can’t do this. She felt angry with herself—pissed and disappointed—she had promised herself she’d be fearless. But she was still Ally, the girl who was afraid of everything, the girl who grew up spoiled and protected by her older brother.

  Beneath the dead girl’s blonde pelvis bush was a crust of dark red. The bedsheet was also stained burgundy under her.

  Sonya took Ally in her arm. Ally shut her eyes tight and wept on Sonya’s shoulder. “Sick motherfuckers—those sick, disturbed motherfuckers,” Ally could hear Sonya whisper to herself.

  “Goddammit,” said Lawrence. “God damn all of this,” his voice was shaky and had dropped to a whisper.

  All the while, the dead girl continued her harsh cries. Still she squirmed and thrashed. Tristan slowly stepped toward the bed, unsheathed his sword, and thrusted the blade into her head. The brief, squishy noise of tearing brain tissue was satisfying compared to the sounds of rage and agony. The girl’s body went still.

  In silence, the four stood, glancing at one another.

  As if driven by sudden anger, Lawrence stormed out the room. Ally, Sonya, and Tristan followed him. They hurried up the stairs, down the hallway, toward the room where Andy sat defenseless. It was hard to tell if Lawrence would act brashly. Ally hoped he’d at least question Anderson first. Could be that Anderson was a victim, a bystander, and perhaps that girl on the bed was a loved one of his. But Ally hadn’t sensed any anguish in Andy when first encountering him.

  “Do you have more corned beef?” was the first thing Andy said when the four entered the room. An empty can and empty water bottle were at his side. He hadn’t moved from his spot.

  Lawrence rushed over to him…

  Smack.

  The strike came with an echo, which made Ally jolt. Andy’s cheek was red. Lawrence panted hard, as though slapping the helpless, crippled guy brought him to a state of ecstasy.

  “What the fuck?” Lawrence said. “What the fuck is up with that girl downstairs, huh? What kinda twisted, depraved shit went on there?”

  “Oh, that girl downstairs?” Andy sounded nonchalant. “That’s Hilary.”

  Smack.

  Lawrence struck him again. Andy began whimpering. Within seconds, it became heavy sobs. Lawrence smiled with gritted teeth and again lifted an opened hand.

  “Lawrence, that’s enough,” said Sonya. The scold, the objection from her, surprised Ally, for even Ally had chosen not to object to Lawrence’s behavior. Ally thought Sonya would be the one taking joy in smacking Anderson around.

  “You have some explaining to do, zombie dick,” said Lawrence. “That’s why you can’t get up, isn’t it? Because your dick is a zombie. You were dicking that thing downstairs.”

  “My legs are numb,” Andy cried out. “My legs are numb and my dick is dead, I think—I can’t feel my dick. It’s leaking some kind of black fluid—I think it is a zombie. It’s made my legs and my butt numb. I can’t move my legs, or my butt.” He let out a series of sobs, snot dangled like a string from his nostril. “You have to get me to a hospital.”

  “Do you know what the fuck’s going on outside?” said Tristan. “We can’t take you to a hospital, dude.”

  “You gotta help me,” Andy went on. “I let Randall and Corey into my house a while back when it was just me here. They had guns and said that we should survive together and help each other out. But, later, they went outside to ‘hunt.’ They brought in Hilary and Bambi both tied up.”

  “Who the fuck’s Bambi?” Lawrence asked.

  “Her.” Ally motioned a thumb to the hallway, assuming it could only be the naked lady she had earlier stabbed in the face.

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t think those are their names,” said Andy. “Randall and Corey just named them. Then later…” He cried. “Later…Randall said that he wanted to pump my juicy, humongous booty…” He cried some more. Tristan covered his mouth to suppress a laugh. “He said if I let him and Corey work my juicy, humongous booty, they’d let me play with Hilary and Bambi. I thought Randall and Corey were my friends.”

  Tristan was now snickering.

  “Anderson…you…sick…” Lawrence’s opened hand went up again.

  “Lawrence, no,” said Sonya.

  Lawrence’s hand went down. He looked back at Sonya. “What?”

  “They had guns,” said Andy. “I had to let them. I didn’t like it. Randall would bite and scratch me. They told me to go play with Hilary and Bambi afterwards. Bambi kept talking and screaming still—I don’t know why. I was so frightened of her. Later, Bambi managed to escape. She bit Corey. Randall had to shoot him.”

  Disturbing, unwanted images flickered in Ally’s mind—two men “working” Anderson. Don’t throw up, Alison, she told herself. Don’t throw up. She knew she’d feel better if she did, but she didn’t want the others to see how weak-willed she still was. Think about something else. Her thoughts flitted. Rainbow sock puppet. Chinchillas. Titan Storm Brigade. Duct tape…

  JUICY HUMONGOUS BOOTY!

  It blew up in her thoughts. It forced its way in.

  Her head jerked forth and vomit shot out from her throat. She bent down and let it stream onto the carpet.

  “Ally,” Sonya went over and took hold of Ally’s shoulders. “It’s okay, just let it out.”

  Ally coughed the rest of the chunks out. “Sorry,” she said to everyone. Sorry that I’m so weak, she wanted to tell them.

  “Where the hell is this Randall now?” Lawrence asked Andy.

  “He went into the other room to hide from Bambi,” Andy replied. “He was ranting before that, telling me that he had one bullet left and it was for him. Then I heard the gone shot. I called to him—he didn’t answer. Corey was his…boyfriend or his brother or something, or probably both. I guess Randall couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “You’re a bunch of sick fucks.”

  “None of this is my fault. Please, help me,” Andy pleaded. “Don’t leave me here or they’ll get me.”

  “We can’t,” Lawrence shook his head. “We can’t help you, man. We can’t carry you out of here. We can’t take you with us. We don’t know if you’re gonna turn.” He slowly started to back away.

  “Please,” Andy continued to cry and plea. “I’ll do anything. I don’t wanna die. I want my mom back. Mommy,” he called out, in what seemed to be an unsettling bout of regression. “Mommy.”

  Lawrence shook his head, beckoned to Tristan, then to Sonya and Ally. He turned and started for the door. He stopped, turned back to face Andy, and pulled out his pistol. “Do you want me to do it?” He aimed at Andy.

  “No, don’t,” Andy put up a stop motion with his hand. “Please, don’t.” His head hung down, as though he had surrendered and realized he’d only be a burden to others. He wept quietly. Without words, it seemed he was asking for the bullet.

  “Lawrence, don’t,” said Sonya.

  “I’m just trying to help,” Lawrence returned the gun to his belt. “How else do we help him? Maybe he’ll, you know…see his mom again…in heaven.”

  “You know what? You’re the sick fuck, Lawrence.”

  “No I’m not, Sonya, I’m spiritual.”

  Sonya stepped away from Ally’s side and unzipped her gym bag. She began pulling out the contents one by one, dropping them near Andy, all the dried and canned foods, two water bottles, and the can opener. “I’m sorry, Andy.”

  It shocked Ally—and surely it shocked Lawrence and Tristan—hearing Sonya apologize. Sonya rarely apologized for anything. Ally opened her own bag and did the same, tossed down all food and water next to Andy. Lawrence and Tristan followed, stepped forth, and started emptying their bags. Now all
water and edibles the group carried were on the floor at arm’s length of Anderson Andrews.

  Andy stared at them all. His crying had stopped. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Lawrence, Ally, and Tristan headed to the door without looking back.

  Sonya remained standing in front of Andy. She unsheathed her combat knife and threw it down with the bottles and cans. “I’m really sorry for everything, Andy. I am. We can’t help you. I hope someone will.” She turned around and joined the rest of the group.

  11

  Armadillo Power Attack

  Tristan

  They had hurried back to the car, not bothering to search the rest of the house for supplies. They needed to leave and get away from Anderson, get away from the guilt of abandoning him. Tristan cared little for Andy’s fate. Tristan had thought, glad that isn’t me, when first entering that shit-smelling room and seeing the crippled, starved and parched Anderson, sitting in his own defecation and whatever bizarre dick fluid he was talking about. Tristan wished they had never stepped into that house. He knew the others felt the same. There was nothing gained but the guilt, a hammer, a flashlight, a roll of duct tape, a few sights, sounds, and smells to further damage your mental wellbeing, and a pot helmet.

  Sonya started the engine and sped away from the house. It was typical of her to have the furrowed brows, the crabbiness, the face stamped with bitchiness, but right now, she appeared sad and lost. Even her reaction to Kyle’s death had been anger. Ally sat slouched in the front passenger’s seat, hair draped over her face. She was weeping, no doubt. Tristan wished he could comfort her and offer her warm words, but everyone knew she still hated him. I’ve done something horrible, he thought, but I’m not as bad as Anderson or those guys who raped him. Tristan still wanted to redeem himself. How? He wondered.

  A few minutes passed. It remained quiet in the car as they rode through the neighborhoods. The undead were predictable in their actions. When they spotted the car, they chased, and when Sonya floored the gas, they gave up pursuit. The undead children seemed to run faster and roar louder than the grown ones. Tristan had seen a toddler amongst one of the packs. A nightmarish sight it was. A very young boy, walking and running in a twitchy manner, with wide, unblinking eyes, and blood around his mouth and on his fingers. In fact, many of the dead had fresh blood on them. The living, probably several of them, must’ve been hiding within houses of shattered windows, surviving off whatever edibles were left, cans of olives, pickled beets, corn syrup, gelatin mix, the kinds of items that’d stay untouched in kitchen pantries for years. Unfortunately, some of these survivors were found.

  Lawrence sat staring out his window, mouthing words to himself, as though lip-synching to a song. Tristan had known Lawrence nearly forever. Lawrence tended to block out unpleasant thoughts by using humorous frivolity. For him it seemed to work. Lawrence would then spend moments alone, dealing with troubles by logically thinking of them till bad thoughts grew old and tired in him. There was no telling what was on his mind right now, or whatever he was singing. Tristan had always admired Lawrence for being strongminded, and so full of charisma—was even envious of him. Tristan had also envied Kyle. Tristan wasn’t as handsome or as liked as those two. He often felt like a talentless nobody around them.

  “Westerly Acres,” said Lawrence, after they had driven past the sign. “We’re not far from the shopping center.”

  Everyone seemed too occupied in thought to respond.

  It was back to silence.

  Houses were much larger in this area. Some were three-story structures with gates and lengthy driveways. This was the rich part of town. Still, several of the houses had the busted windows and the collapsed fences. Iron gates and high fences didn’t save the inhabitants, apparently.

  “I’m sorry everyone,” Ally suddenly spoke.

  “For what?” Sonya asked.

  “I’m useless out here. I’m always afraid. I thought I could do this, but…”

  “I feel the same about myself,” said Tristan. It was all he could say. He couldn’t find words to put Ally at ease. We have something in common, Ally. “I’m sorry, too, I guess.”

  “Knock that shit off,” said Sonya, harshly, “the both of you. There’s no point in being down on yourselves. If you wanna stay alive, then fight. If you stop fighting you die.”

  “Neither of you have failed us so far,” said Lawrence, who wasn’t at all cutting like Sonya. “Until you do, then you can apologize.”

  “But I threw up back at that house,” said Ally. “I got sick in the stomach over everything that guy Andy was saying.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Do you remember a long time ago when we were all eating dinner, and then Charlene walks into the kitchen, talking about the material of her new underwear was giving her vagina lips a rash? And then she said that her vagina is as sensitive and delicate as a rose, and beautiful and sweetly aromatic like one, too. Then Kyle was like, ‘Go to hell, Charlene, we’re eating here.’ Man, did I wanna puke at the shit she was saying. I wanted to projectile vomit like you did at that house.”

  A sudden loud blast sounded.

  “Oh my God,” Ally shouted, “what was that?”

  All of them looked around, spying the outside.

  “It was a gunshot,” said Lawrence.

  Sonya sped up. With another loud blast, a scraping noise followed. The car rumbled in motion and was now out of Sonya’s control. It swerved to the right, hit the curb, and bounced onto the sidewalk. Sonya slammed the brakes till the vehicle stopped. Someone had shot out the front left tire.

  Sonya popped her door open, leaving the engine of her Honda running. “We’re being shot at! We have to get out!”

  Everyone rushed out the car and broke into a full-speed run. There was no time for speculations or screams. They ran as fast as possible, realizing someone was targeting them from afar. Tristan heard several of the dead moaning, somewhere a distance away. The shots and the echoes of quick treading feet alerted those things. It was expected that the monsters would soon charge out of hiding. Sonya was ahead of Tristan, Ally, and Lawrence. She was likely directionless in her panicked state, but the three followed, moving just for the sake of not being struck by a bullet or spotted by the undead packs lurking nearby.

  A third gunshot came. Tristan heard the rip of pavement, which didn’t sound far from him. Sonya shifted rightward and trampled over a downed section of high fence. The three followed her through the front yard of a massive white stucco house with red-tiled rooves. They veered around the outer section of the garage and slowed their run once reaching the back end of the house. They stopped and rested against the wall, panting, falling to their bottoms in exhaustion.

  It all happened fast. Judging by the aches in Tristan’s legs and the sweat that soaked the potholders at his head, they had run a great distance. It must’ve been minutes from when they had fled Sonya’s car. They had taken all equipment with them, their bags and weapons. No other belongings were left behind. Tristan felt the burn of dryness in his throat. He thirsted, but he didn’t have water. All their bottles had been left with Anderson.

  Lawrence

  The house appeared undamaged, as there were no busted windows and no other signs of forced entry. Lawrence wondered how this home went unnoticed by the hordes outside. He thought back to his theory of rich people clearing the area, spending their fortunes to escape to someplace safe when the sickness started. If that were true about rich folk, then the entirety of Westerly Acres would be deserted, absent of anyone diseased. The concept wasn’t entirely true, though. Many houses close by did have telltale signs of invasion.

  The four entered through the backdoor with a simple turn of the knob. Smashing a window wasn’t necessary. The shattering noise would’ve been a clear invitation to the dead and the hostile living, who could still be in pursuit. It was dark inside, but Lawrence knew they were in the dining room, as he saw dark shapes of chairs lined up at a long table with a chandelier centered high above. T
ristan closed the backdoor and locked up. All windows around were either draped over or covered with closed blinds. Lawrence handed his axe to Sonya, who’d given her combat knife to Andy, for him to defend himself, or slice his own veins, or amputate his zombified penis. Lawrence unzipped his bag, dug in, and took out the duct tape roll. He grabbed his hammer and flashlight, held them together, and began wrapping them with pulled strands of tape. Now a light and weapon were attached and conveniently one tool.

  “I’m thirsty,” said Lawrence, flicking on the flashlight. He directed the light to the kitchen and hurried out the dining room. The others didn’t protest about caution. They followed him through the kitchen. Lawrence spotted the fridge and rushed over. “Whoa,” Something cracked under his foot, causing him to slip. He slammed into the ground on his side, where littered plastic bottles cushioned most of his fall. “Aw, dammit.” He had bumped his elbow on the tiled floor. “Ow, aw, that hurt.”

  Sonya laughed.

  “Did you ask if he was okay?” Ally said.

  Sonya continued laughing. “No.”

  “I think he’s hurt.”

  Sonya laughed harder.

  Tristan came over to Lawrence, the rattling sounds of plastic and glass bottles came with his steps. “You okay, Lawrence?” Tristan said, taking hold of Lawrence’s arm and hoisting him up.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” said Lawrence. He stretched out his sore arm and rubbed his elbow. “My elbow.” It throbbed. His forearm and hand tingled, but he knew the pain would subside. “I’m fine.” He frowned at Sonya. “Oh don’t worry about me, Sonya, I’ll be fine.”

  “Sorry for laughing at you, Lawrence,” Sonya said.

  “No you’re not.”