Dead Bones - Six Pack. The Ultimate Zombie Collection

by Ian Woodhead

  “Don’t hurt it dad, it’s…”

  The boy’s remaining words dried on his lips when Talbot spun around and glared at him. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what the boy was about to say. His soft little son had been giving that thing tasty treats. No wonder it hadn’t taken fright and scampered off. Talbot then flashed his son a tight smile, turned to make sure that the unwelcome visitor was still there, then lifted up his boot and stamped down hard on the dirty fucker.

  Thinking back, that had been the only time when his son had displayed another emotion other than fear in his presence. Seeing all that pent up hate dripping from the boy’s eyes like battery acid gave him an incredible buzz, it was almost as fulfilling as hearing the rodent’s tiny little bones snap under the sole of his shoe. Talbot remembered watching the hate on his son’s face turn to horror when Talbot had removed his shoe and showed Brendan exactly what squashed mouse looked like.

  That gave him an incredible idea. Those two lowlife druggies in this dump acted like rodents so he ought to treat them the same way. He was sure the greasy fucker would give Talbot such a hateful glare if he stamped on his druggie girlfriend’s hands.

  Oh yes, that sounded like a splendid plan. Talbot reached the top of the stairs and pushed the door open with his toe; even with gloves on he couldn’t bring himself to touch that grimy handle.

  As he had expected, the room beyond continued with the fashion of neglect and bedlam already evident in the hallway. What Talbot didn’t expect to see in that dimly lit room was the gallons of deep, red blood covering every surface. There was enough light to see the shape of two figures on a large sofa against the dirt streaked wall.

  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that the figure under the man was female. It was difficult to tell, and not much of her remained intact. The boy had his head buried deep within her stomach. He reminded Talbot of a starving dog tucking into a cow’s carcass.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  The wet sound of chewing stopped. The lad brought his head out of the hole and gazed at him. The greasy fucker began to moan softly. Oh Christ, he had seen that look and those blank eyes before in Brendan. The lad slowly turned back to gaze at the gaping crimson maw before looking back at Talbot.

  He quickly dismissed the notion of this being the result of drugs. Talbot had seen many things in his life, but the scene before him topped them all. For the first time in his dubious career of debt enforcer, he wished he had brought the pistol, hidden in the boot of the car.

  “Are you going to talk to me you dirty, greasy fucker? I asked you a question.”

  He blinked once before dipping his head back into the hole. Talbot’s raging temper took hold, he couldn’t believe it! That little bastard had just dismissed him as if he was of no consequence. No fucker ignored Talbot Field. He strode into the room, grabbed a beer bottle from the top of the TV stand, and launched it at the lad. It smacked into his shoulder. He looked up once more.

  “Don’t you fucking ignore me, you greasy cunt!” he screamed.

  The lad climbed off the dead girl and staggered towards Talbot. He saw no fear or unease in the boy’s eyes, only hunger. He instinctively stepped back when the boy reached for him. Talbot clenched both fists and hooked the left into the boy’s stomach.

  The boy didn’t even flinch, but that was not possible. The fucker should have folded like a bloody hinge. Talbot growled before punching the boy squarely on the nose. Yet again the lad didn’t react as he should have. This wasn’t fair, he felt like he was hitting a fucking punch bag.

  Talbot pulled his fist back one more time, then stopped when he heard someone else starting to moan. He gaped in horror as the girl on the sofa tried to sit up; he must be fucking dreaming, the bitch was dead, and half of her insides were outside. He didn’t notice the lad had tenderly taken hold of his other hand like a betrothed lover and was bringing it up to his open mouth.

  Sharp pain abruptly lanced through Talbot as the lad bit down on his fingers. He screamed aloud in shock and agony before smashing his uninjured fist into the lad’s nose one more time. It had no effect; Talbot could feel the teeth crunching through fabric, skin, and flesh.

  He gritted his own teeth, then grabbed the man’s ear and slammed his head into the wall— he saw the woman out of the corner of his eye slip off the sofa and onto the floor, most of her guts stayed where they were. The lad’s teeth scraped against his bones, and

  Talbot slammed the boys head into the wall again and again. After the fourth impact, the lad finally let go of his destroyed hand.

  Talbot was close to bursting into tears. He watched the Greasy Fucker slide down the wall leaving a smear of blood and brains on the wallpaper and then marched over to the thing still crawling towards him and stamped on both of her hands before staggering out of the room. That cunt had mangled his beautiful hand, and Talbot slowly made his way down the stairs, feeling a little dizzy and very confused. When he managed to reach the foot of the stairs, he discovered that he no longer felt any pain in his right hand.

  Chapter Five

  Lester Field bent over the low brick wall and picked the discarded coke can off the grass verge. Technically, this piece of land outside the car park didn’t belong to the club and consequently, was out of his jurisdiction. The council was supposed to be responsible for its upkeep, not that he’d ever seen any of those bunch of slackers and jobsworth cowboys anywhere near here. They were too busy giving out parking fines to care about picking up litter.

  Mess bred chaos. Anyone with half a brain knew that. Lester couldn’t abide mess, he’d always been a very tidy person, and thankfully it was one quality that he was proud to say that his only son had inherited. He chuckled; compared to young Talbot, old Lester was a teenage scruff pot. He remembered the last time Lester was invited up for dinner and how Talbot reacted when that wimpy grandson spilled gravy all over the tablecloth. Brendan’s father went postal and beat the living shit out of the lad. Of course, Lester had silently approved; after all, it’s what he had to do to Talbot when he was younger. What he didn’t approve of though was that bloody wife of his.

  He saw the fear in her eyes, which was a good thing, but he also saw defiance. Young Talbot should have knocked that out of her a long time ago; it’s what he did to his Irene when they were first married, and it never did her any bloody harm. Still, it wasn’t Lester’s place to say anything— not that he would anyway. Despite her major attitude problem, the woman did make a smashing cauliflower cheese. The family had invited him up again on Saturday, and he hoped she’d make that again.

  Lester dropped the can onto the tarmac and stamped on it until it was good and flat, he ensured that there were no sharp edges that would rip the plastic, then threw it into his black bin bag. He patted his chest pocket on his orange overalls to make sure that his rollup was still in there. If would soon be time to enjoy his traditional ‘job well done’ cigarette. Lester only had the bins behind the club to check and his tools to side away, and that would be another shift in the bag.

  He slowly turned around, scanning the car park for any litter that he might have missed. It would be a very shameful experience if Mr. Crowley pulled up in that expensive dark green Mercedes and just happened to spot a crushed fag packet or a chip wrapper despoiling his immaculate car park.

  Thank the seven lords of creation that it wasn’t windy tonight. He knew that there really was no need to double check as he’d done the job correctly the first time; even so, diligence paid a dividend, that’s what his old man used to say to him.

  “You could eat your dinner off that floor,” he murmured.

  Lester glanced at his watch. The employees would be arriving very soon, closely followed by the customers. Both classes of folk would treat his car park like a giant litterbin. He hoped to be round the back before the first car pulled in; Lester wouldn’t be able to contain his temper if he witnessed any of them dropping their crap all over the bloody place.

  “Something
else that young Talbot inherited from me.”

  He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder then walked towards the club building. It was hard to believe that he was Mr. Crowley’s longest serving employee, considering none of the other staff members would even give him the time of the day, except for their in-house cook, Dominic. He treated Lester with more than a modicum of respect.

  The bouncer called the lad Domino for some reason; one of these days, he’d ask him why. He was another one who treated him with a little respect. He made a good bouncer did Douglas, he fit the part very well but underneath all that muscle, the feller was just a big soft pudding, Lester bet that his old man hadn’t given him the odd slap. If he had then Douglas wouldn’t have to be such a bloody drama queen. A man needed discipline in his life; anyone with half a brain knew that. As for the lad, well Lester suspected that he was one of those fairies, so he didn’t count as he wasn’t a real man.

  The violent sound of glass shattering broke through Lester’s musing. He snapped up his head. He couldn’t believe it, that sounded like a bottle. Some bastard must have thrown it over the wall round the back. Either that or some clown was rifling through the bottle bank round the back again.

  Bloody hell, Lester hated glass. It was a real pain in the arse to clear up. He placed the bag on the floor and hurried along the side of the club— no doubt a group of kids from the Breakspear Estate were round the back and up to no good. He smiled to himself; they had chosen the wrong place to cause mischief. Lester had no compunction in giving a few kids a good hiding. As far as he was concerned, all brats were fair game to a collision with his hard hands, open or closed. Especially ones who liked to cause trouble.

  He heard another bottle smash, somebody was going to get it tonight. He smacked a fist into his open palm; oh yes, and nobody messed his bloody club up. Lester reached the iron fence the separated the car park from the delivery yard. He was most annoyed to discover the gate wide open. A tiny stab of unease crept into his heart when he realized that it had been him who’d forgotten to lock the bloody gate after he’d collected his tools. If Mr. Crowley did just happen to show up, how the hell would he explain this one? He had left one of the emergency exits open too. Lester had lodged the door open with a brick. Bloody hell, if those brats were inside the club, Mr. Crowley would string him up by his bollocks; he couldn’t believe that he’d been so bloody careless.

  “Mr. Crowley isn’t going to find out though.”

  Lester reckoned that he had about twenty more minutes before the first of the employees turned up. As he rushed through the gate, he saw the two smashed bottles straight away. Lester snorted when it dawned on him what must have happened. He looked across the top of the compound wall that surrounded the back area and saw the rest of them.

  Fourteen bottles filled with sand remained on the wall, just where he’d placed them weeks ago. He couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to forget about them. Lester had placed them there to stop a fox from sneaking into the yard and ripping up his bin bags.

  He couldn’t remember where he’d read about that little trick, but it had worked, and that bloody fox hadn’t made another appearance since. Lester gazed at all that sand and broken glass and sighed.

  “It must have been a bloody cat. The noise would have scared the bloody animal away.”

  That adrenalin rush Lester felt when he thought he might be having a rumble vanished, leaving him feeling a little disappointed. Giving a bunch of snot nosed brats a bloody good clip round the lugholes would have fair made his day, so it would.

  Lester strode over the mess and hurried over to the open fire door. He peeked inside and listened for a moment or two, just in case. He had to make sure, after all; due diligence did pay dividends. There were no skulking shadows or any sound apart from the low humming of the walk-in freezer at the back of the kitchen. Then again, he didn’t expect to hear anything. It must have been a cat; the daft fur ball would be on the other side of town by now. He knew that a bunch of kids would have knocked more than a couple of bottles down.

  Lester removed the two bricks and allowed the fire door to swing shut. It looked like he would have to wait a little longer before he could enjoy that cigarette, and to make things bloody worse, he left his tools in front of the club. He imagined the look of disapproval that he’d get from Mr. Crowley if he pulled into the car park and saw Lester’s gear left unattended, just begging to be stolen.

  As Lester spun around, he thought a shadow under that bottle bank moved. His body might be past its prime by thirty years, but the old peepers were still as sharp as they’d always been. He crouched down to get a better view. Bloody hell, there was something under there and it was no cat, that was for damn sure, way too big for a cat.

  It was too dark to make it out; if it was a fox, it was a bloody big one. Lester glanced at his watch and found that he still had a few minutes before the boss could arrive, plenty of time to do a spot of pest control.

  “Mr. Fox is going get a bit of a headache in a minute.”

  He scurried back to the fire door and picked up one of the bricks, and after a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the other brick too. Suitably armed, he sneaked back over to the bottle bank. He wasn’t sure why he was being so stealthy, it’s not like the fox wouldn’t be able to see him approach the bank. Lester mentally shrugged, he’d already passed it once and that hadn’t alarmed the little bastard, so maybe it’d stay where it was, shaking and quivering.

  Lester stopped directly in front of the bank, he liked the idea that Mr. Fox was under there, no doubt shitting himself and waiting for the scary human to piss off so he could go through the bin bags again.

  “Not this time,” he murmured, rubbing the bricks together. “You’re going to get a nasty present.”

  He didn’t think the fox would stay still long enough for him to smash its head between the two bricks, but he was going to have a bloody good go. Lester dropped to his knees, he rested his hands on the bricks, and bent his head closer to the gap. It was definitely still there, and Lester could hear it moving about.

  He then heard a noise echoing out of the gap that came from no animal. It was a human moan.

  “What the hell? Hello, is there someone under there?”

  As Lester bent further down, a pair of small hands whipped out from under the gap, each one fastened around his ears. His own hands instinctively flew up and wrapped around those freezing cold arms; as he did so, Lester lost his balance and he found himself being dragged towards that tiny gap. All Lester could hear were the sounds of guttural groaning and crying, and the crying was coming from him.

  His body slapped the tarmac and Lester came face to face with his assailant. It was a little girl no older than five years old. She moaned again when she saw him and lunged forward. Lester tried to jerk back but was too late to stop her from fastening her teeth over his bottom lip. Pain exploded through him as she bit through the flesh; she growled and pulled her head back and stretched his mutilated lip until finally it tore.

  The girl darted forward once more, this time she bit into his neck, and he could hear her chewing through his skin and tendons, but the sound, like the pain, had receded into the distance. He closed his eyes, and the last thought he had before he died was of a giant fox picking up litter.

  Chapter Six

  Angela Price’s gasps exploded from her, and she thrust her naked body further down the bed. The man’s head wedged between her legs responded by pushing his snakelike tongue further inside her. This was it, oh Christ, the first orgasm that hadn’t been self-induced was rushing through her body like a tsunami.

  She screamed and tried to arch her back but the man had placed his arms over her thighs so he could finish her off.

  After what felt like an eternity, the man looked at her, wiped his chin then grinned.

  “Marks out of ten?”

  “Twenty,” she replied, giggling.

  “So are you ready for the main course now?”

&nb
sp; “Oh god, yes!” she replied. “Get those pants off, right now. I want to taste what you have in there.”

  He climbed off the bed and stood in front of Angela, with his eyes roaming up and down her body; she stretched like a cat and licked her lips. The man made no move to remove the rest of his clothes.

  “You’ll have to keep yourself on the boil for a couple of minutes, sweetheart. I need to go and piss.”

  She made a playful grab for his crotch, giggling when he jumped back, almost tripping over her discarded jeans and t-shirt. . “You are such a romantic.”

  Angela watched him leave the room, then she pulled the crimson silk sheet over her body and snuggled her head into the soft pillow. She still found it hard to believe that it was only yesterday when she was calling the man who had just made her earth move an evil old bastard, to his face as well.

  Bernard giving her tons of abuse and hassle throughout the whole of her shift. ‘Angela that glass is still dirty, you’ve been giving out the wrong change again, and that couple is still waiting for their food’ he had never let up all night.

  By midnight, she had had enough and decided there and then that it was time to find another job and that Mr. Crowley could stuff his job up his arse and then go fuck himself.

  She heard him enter the bathroom. Oh god, Angela so hoped that he wasn’t going to take forever. If he could turn her into a mound of jelly with just his tongue, what would he be able to do with that monster coiled up inside his trousers?