Dead Bones - Six Pack. The Ultimate Zombie Collection

by Ian Woodhead

  The thought of him sitting in here, twiddling his thumbs like a good little convert flew from his mind now that he had this in his hands. Would it be more logical to go and link up with his mistress? What if she was in trouble? What if the two he-men were unable to save her?

  Dennis smiled at the thought of him sticking the business end of his new toy against their finely sculptured bodies and laughing his head off as they fell to the floor, landing in a puddle of their own piss.

  He padded over to the door; there was no way that he could stay in here.”

  “I’ll be missing out on all the fun.”

  He pulled open the door and paused when the sound of running feet reached his ears. He noticed a young girl of about seventeen racing towards him. Dennis recognised her. She called him a dirty creep a couple of weeks ago when she caught him trying to look down her low cut top.

  Dennis knew her type; she was the same class of woman that had always given him a hard time at school or at work. They look at him, decide that he’s about as distasteful as a dried dog turd, and treat him accordingly. They’re nasty, mean little snipes, every last one of them.

  Just behind the sobbing girl Dennis spotted a blighted soul. He was going at a fair pace too and he looked about the same age as the girl. She then noticed Dennis stood just inside that open door. The relief on her face was palatable, and he kept his face as straight as he could; Dennis didn’t wish her to know that she was jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  “Come on, lass!” he shouted, doing his best to sound concerned, with a touch of panic overlaying his voice for good measure. “Get in here.”

  He opened the door a little wider to allow her inside. When she passed him, the girl’s perfume, tinged with fear and hot sweat, almost made him wet himself. The hidden opportunities for him had only just been made manifest. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, panting. Dennis looked at his catch and attempted to duplicate the look of a kindly old uncle. It was so difficult though, he couldn’t believe how excited he was. Dennis felt the beginnings of an erection.

  “Are you alright?”

  The girl’s tear streaked eyes gave him just one pitying look before breaking into sobs. “Oh, god. What’s happening? What’s wrong with my Dale?” She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes.

  Dennis could have kicked himself, he’d just missed an opportunity there. He could have done that for her; she was so distraught over her situation, the girl wouldn’t have even noticed.

  “Is Dale your boyfriend?”

  She nodded.

  That made sense, the girl before him was a stunner. She was bound to have a good-looking boyfriend. The chaser reminded him of those two, the ones at the top of the mill who were no doubt already deep inside the mistress’s flesh, despoiling his property. Dennis attempted to get to grips with these runaway emotions, what was he thinking? He took a deep breath and smiled at the girl.

  Perhaps the mistress would allow him to keep this one as a pet. He didn’t think the girl would mind. After all, Dennis had just saved her life; she was bound to be grateful. He heard the girl asking him if he knew what was going on. Dennis slowly nodded, pleased that he’d be able to start her re-education immediately.

  “It’s called The Reckoning. The gates of hell have opened and all you heathens are about to have your flesh cleaved from your bones.”

  He took one step towards her, “You don’t have to look so terrified though, child. I may be able to save you for, of course, certain favours.” He winked at her, feeling rather pleased at how well this was going.

  The girl scrabbled back and cried out when he tried to grab her. “You’re fucking cuckoo!” Her face changed from terror to abhorrence, pausing in the middle to show recognition.

  “I know you.” She hissed. Her eyes strayed down to his crotch. “Oh, Fucking hell, you vile bastard.”

  Dennis sighed, not knowing who had upset him the most; her for resorting to base heathen behaviour or him for misreading the signs. He swung the baton, hitting her across the cheeks. He giggled, it sounded like a cricket bat cracking a ball.

  He gazed in wonder at his new toy, what a marvellous tool. Dennis bent over and picked the girl up; he gave her thigh a slight squeeze and pushed his face into her chest, she smelled fantastic, like a hot summer meadow.

  Dennis heard the girl moan. He brought his mouth down to her ear, resisting the urge to lick her lobes. “This is one moment of weakness that I won’t confess to the mistress. I could do anything to you, and nobody would know or, I suspect, care.”

  His head jerked towards the closed door when Dennis heard something bang against it. “You had you chance though, you can’t say that I’m not a fair man.”

  Dennis carried her over to the door and with a bit of juggling, he managed to grab the handle. The door swung open, revealing the hungry face of the dead boyfriend. Dennis threw the girl at him and sidestepped the struggling pair.

  The girl’s agonizing scream was like sweet music to his ears. Dennis pushed through the fire door grinning like a loon. As he hurried down the corridor, opening as many closed door as he could, he briefly wondered just how her boyfriend had been able to get through that fire door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Craig wasn’t going anywhere. His arms were held tight inside the big goon’s massive fist. To rub salt into the wound, fatty was going through all his private files on Craig’s mobile phone that he nicked off him.

  He had to get away from this big bag of blubber, only he hadn’t a clue how to achieve that. Craig wanted to go back to that cellar and find his sister. He hadn’t a clue how to achieve that one either.

  Tears welled up, blurring his vision. He felt so useless, what had happened to Stacey? Craig didn’t know what to do anymore. He suddenly looked up as something or someone clattered across the ceiling. He thought of giant rats, then shivered, remembering his little sister clambering along the wall.

  The goon then dragged him through a door; Craig was surprised to find that they were now in the main lobby. He was even more surprised when he dropped the phone into Craig’s hand.

  “Here you go, kid.” He said, releasing his arm.

  Craig shot away like a racehorse from a paddock. There wasn’t a chance in hell that the big guy would be able to catch him. He raced for the doors, not caring if the goon was in pursuit; within seconds he’d be out of here. Craig stopped before the two white doors, not understanding why the fuckers still stayed shut.

  “They’re palm-locked, you idiot” said the man. “Only the residents can get out. Of course, I suppose the guard could let you out, but he appears to have left his post.”

  He turned and leaned against the glass doors. Craig had run past the ornate wooden desk and not even clocked it.

  “You could always try the fire door, lad. They should work. I’d prefer it though if you stayed here, at least until the job’s done.”

  “No chance.” Craig hissed.

  The big man shrugged, he didn’t seem all that bothered with Craig’s rebellious performance.

  “Look behind you, lad. That red glow in the distance is Breakspear. I know it can get a bit lively on a Friday night, but we don’t usually set our homes ablaze. See sense, lad, this isn’t an isolated incident, it’s happening everywhere.”

  Laurence padded across to the desk. He looked in bafflement at three rows of small black buttons on a panel set underneath a television monitor. Craig sighed, he went over and slapped the man’s hand away. Within a couple of seconds, he replaced the static on the screen with a picture showing an empty corridor somewhere within the building. They both watched as a naked woman ran out of an apartment; there was no sound but Craig could tell that she was screaming. Another figure then shambled out of the apartment, he too was naked, and he appeared to be after the woman.

  Laurence pushed down a button and the picture changed, this time it showed the main road outside the mill. There was a body lying in the middle of the road. Two women both
had their faces deep inside the body’s exposed cavity.

  “It really is happening everywhere. That bloke we just saw was probably that woman’s husbands or brother. There’s a fucking good chance that your dad really will be eating your mum.”

  Craig shook his head; the man was just lying to him, this wasn’t really happening. He saw the fire door on the other side of the lobby and ran towards it.

  “I mean it, lad, I’m not going to stop you leaving. But just think about how many of those meat eating monsters are between here and the estate?”

  He grabbed the horizontal bar. He was just over a mile from home, and if he pelted it, Craig should be back home in ten minutes time.

  “What about your sister, Craig? You aren’t going to leave her here are you? What if she suddenly gets better?”

  Craig took his hands off the bar. He abruptly yelped when somebody outside banged against the glass. He backed away towards Laurence. The big man pushed past the boy.

  “That’s not fucking possible.” He stared at the man outside then looked at Craig.

  The boy shivered, the fear showing on the big man’s face was the most terrifying sight he’d witnessed tonight.

  “That fucker ought to be dead.” Laurence staggered back. “He’s got a piece missing out of his neck, he ought to be dead.”

  “He can’t get through though can he?” Craig licked his lips, “I mean, you said it was palm-locked.”

  The man slapped his palm on the glass. The boy then noticed he wore a uniform, and it said Greenacre Rise across his top pocket. He gazed at the huge sign above the door that read ‘Welcome to Greenacre Rise’

  “Oh, fuck,” he muttered. “We need to get out of here.”

  The man outside slapped the door again, this time he slid his hand across to the wall.

  “He ought to be dead,” repeated Laurence.

  The twin doors slowly slid open.

  Craig turned, he looked in anguish at the big man’s disbelieving face. This was just unreal, the big hard man had frozen up. “Don’t just stand there! Do something.”

  Laurence shook himself; he dug into his jacket pocket and brought out his pistol. “Dead people don’t move!” He aimed and fired.

  The bullet tore through the man’s chest; a geyser of crimson gore blew out from behind him, splattering against the closing doors. The guard jerked, but it didn’t stop his progress. Craig cried out when the man changed direction and headed for him, and he looked over at Laurence, pleading for help, but his eyes were fixed on his gun.

  He ducked under the guard’s flailing arms and ran over to the side of the doors. At each side of the doors were two ornamental tropical ferns. He bent down and picked up the brown ceramic pot. Craig could hear the man’s excited moans as he approached Craig’s back. He lifted the pot above his head, twisted around, and slammed it into the guard’s face.

  “Thanks for your help,” scoffed Craig. “Some hero you turned out to be.”

  The man suddenly looked up. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

  The guard groaned, his hands clenched and unclenched. He hurried over and kicked the man in the head. “Stay down, you fucker.” He hissed. Craig took a deep breath, the guards twitching ceasing. “You’re right, Laurence. I’m not leaving yet, not until I find Stacy.”

  He stood back as a pool of dark red fluid spread out from under the guard’s head, he watched the man eject the magazine from inside the handle. Craig had trouble understanding what had just happened between him and Laurence. One thing was perfectly clear though. If Craig hadn’t been here, if he’d bolted for that fire door, then that man who was slowly regaining his arrogant posture would have surely died.

  “Thanks for watching my back,” said Laurence. He replaced the magazine then padded over to the fallen man. “I owe you one, man.” Laurence nudged the guard’s head with is boot. “So, the dead are coming back to life,” he gazed at Craig. “I didn’t think this really happened. I thought it was make believe like Santa Claus and Shakespeare.”

  Craig looked at the man, open-mouthed. “Are you feeling better now?”

  “The man nodded, “Of course, I am; it just rattled me for a moment there, that’s all. Now, I reckon that we ought to get moving.”

  “You mean you’re staying too?”

  Laurence nodded.

  “Why? I mean, if the world has gone to shit, your boss ain’t gonna need a big bag of nicked jewellery anymore is he?”

  “Have you heard of a guy from Breakspear called Edgar Wallace?” Laurence smiled. “I see from your expression that you have, thought you would have done. Well, the police have raided his house four times now and they’ve found bugger all. Edgar’s not an idiot, he wouldn’t leave any of his guns there; now that would be just dumb.”

  Laurence wandered back to the guard’s desk and began to play with the buttons on the control panel. The screen continued to change, showing images of multiple slaughters, running figures, and splayed corpses. He looked back at Craig. “He’s got an apartment here, in Greenacre.”

  “And he keeps his weapons there?”

  The man nodded, “I guarantee it.”

  “And you know where it is?”

  “The penthouse suite, of course, on the top floor.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Not one person had passed by Linda’s apartment for over ten minutes now. The bald man and the slag both left that den of debauchery some time ago, they both left at different times and in separate direction. They’d never done that before.

  It seemed a little too quiet out in that corridor for her liking, something was going on, Linda could feel it. The last person she saw ran past her door at high speed, she didn’t have time to see who it was.

  Linda stood up and placed both her hands on the small of her back. The ache down there was getting worse; as the days crawled past, the ache stayed for longer, and it was becoming to be her constant companion. She suddenly had the brief mental image of Craig giving her a massage back when they first got together. Linda shivered; her flesh crawled at the very though of him touching her bare skin. She’d take a hot bath in a bit, that ought to ease the pain.

  She hobbled over to Craig’s chair, a little surprised to see him not in it. Had he gone out? Linda couldn’t remember. She shrugged. Not that it really mattered. The man would come back, he always did. Linda dismissed his lack of presence; as far as she was concerned, he was about as important to her as his chair.

  That foul woman across the corridor needs to be taught how to behave. The harlot obviously had no morals. People like her are just asking for punishment to be wrought upon their heads.

  Her mother brought Linda up to be a good Christian. Her only lapse, at least in her mother’s eyes, was to leave her home and live in sin with Marcus. Over the weeks since they’d got together, she had noticed her mother’s attitude to Marcus slowly change. She began to warm to Marcus when her mother realised that the man wasn’t going to lead her down the left hand path after all. Then her mother was cruelly taken from her.

  Linda fell into Craig’s chair. She would have still been alive if Linda had done as she first begged and left Marcus. It had been his bright idea to move into these apartments. She knew that this was a terrible idea when she first caught glance of that awful housing estate. She picked up his favourite coffee cup, paused to read the writing around the outside, then threw it hard against the far wall. The man was like a stranger to her now.

  Did Marcus still love her? With all his constant moaning, she would have to give that question some serious thought. There were times when his babble just turned into white noise; she was able to block that and concentrate on her duties, but on occasion, his annoying stream of whining gripes just stuck in her head and gave Linda a terrible headache.

  Why could he not see that now her mother had been taken from this realm the duty of keeping the neighbours in check had now fallen to Linda? Her mother had passed on the torch when she had died.

  Marcus only saw the
material side to life. At first, Linda hadn’t understood the relevance of her mother’s teachings. It took her some time to see that her life had been pre-ordained before Marcus had even come on the scene. He probably thought that once the nagging old bag was out of the way, they’d be able to get on with their lives and live happily ever after.

  Maybe it would be a good idea if they went their separate ways. A tiny part of her was fond of the man that swept the young Linda off her feet, but deep down, she knew that he would never accept the new Linda.

  He’d probably be eager for a split; she knew that the rent here was crippling him. Marcus could move in with his mother and father until he found somewhere else a little cheaper. She grinned. Linda would put the idea to him when he got back from wherever the hell he’d gone.

  Now, what was she going to do about her larger problem? The woman wouldn’t listen to reason, that much was plain as the whore she was. She decided that the key to this whole uncomfortable dilemma was the little man, Dennis. There were a few other men that visited the slag, but he was the most frequent. He also lived on this floor.

  Linda had spoken to the man’s wife on a number of occasions, and she had seemed pleasant enough, if a little shy. The last time she’d met her, Linda had been pleased to note the crucifix hanging from her neck, and she had been meaning to ask her where she worshipped, but the woman had made her excuses and fled.

  The chances of her being aware of her husband’s constant sinning were most doubtful. She didn’t strike Linda as the sharpest tool in the box, and Dennis looked like the type of man who was an expert in the art of misinformation. On the surface, the little man looked as harmless as a tiny bug; it was only until you looked into the scheming eyes when you saw the evil.