Dead Bones - Six Pack. The Ultimate Zombie Collection

by Ian Woodhead

  When the boy whipped his head away, something in Dominic’s brain just tripped out. He charged forward, raised his weapon and crashed it down onto the boy’s head, burying the spike deep into the boy’s skull. “You’re the one who’s a fucking waste of skin,” he growled. “That’s for being a horrid pig to me and to Clarisse.”

  Clarisse let out a tiny gasp. “Oh my god, you killed him. We are so fucked now.”

  He yanked the spike out and dragged the boy’s body over to one of the dead things. He looked back at his weapon, watching a single drop of blood slowly roll down the metal, marvelling at the intense colour compared to all the dull greys and browns surrounding it.

  “No we are not, Clarisse.” He crouched over the dead boy.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

  Dominic placed the boy’s cheek between his teeth and snapped his jaw shut, gagging as his mouth filled with hot blood. He jumped up and spat the stuff onto the floor. “We had no choice,” he said, wiping his mouth. “One of the dead things bit him, Clarisse. You saw it happen as well as I did. We had to put him down. What else could we do?”

  Chapter Five

  Nobody on the magistrate’s committee would be able to pluck up the balls to tell the man that he had a lump of congealed pork gravy stuck to his fat jowls like an unsightly wet wart. They would all rather stay silent, trying to maintain eye contact, all knowing that the lump would demand their attention.

  It didn’t make sense to Wendy Nikiski, the magistrate’s new feature had been stuck to his face since the fat bastard had finished his meal over ten minutes ago, why had he not felt its presence?

  Wendy pressed her forefinger to her own cheek, no matter how light the touch, she could still feel the pressure. She guessed that all the extra padding must have dulled the nerve endings in his fat face.

  Since she had become the magistrate’s housekeeper and main caregiver five months ago, the man had certainly piled on the weight. The new addition of a qualified chef to the team had not helped. Not that Wendy could blame him, the dishes that Dominic conjured up from their food supplies really were to die for. With a bit of luck, the magistrate would eat himself to death, or just eat until his strained heart just gave out. Wendy inwardly smiled at that pleasant thought.

  The magistrate’s deep voice rose up an octave as he demanded answers from the gathered individuals regarding this latest incident. Wendy decided that it was time to make herself scarce. There would be no more valuable information to glean from this herd of assembled idiots. The community leaders were either trying not to stare at the magistrate’s facial stain or babbling out incoherent platitudes.

  She should have left earlier on, before this meeting had descended into a farce. The leaders had been so confident, reading out battle statistics, smiling at the fact that despite the overwhelming numbers, there had only been three casualties. Her ears had pricked up when one of the leaders had mentioned the battle in Dominic’s garden. Wendy would have to go check on him tonight.

  The leaders must have felt they had calmed down the big man with their smooth speeches. The shit only hit the fan when the Magistrate asked for their opinion on why the dead things had suddenly attacked in the first place.

  Wendy wheeled her tea trolley along the back of the boardroom, collecting empty cups off the polished mahogany table as she passed each delegate. Unlike these suited up fools, quivering in their shiny black shoes, if the magistrate suddenly decided to ask Wendy the reason for these new attacks, Wendy believed that she‘d have a better chance of supplying him with a more coherent answer than these monkeys. She, like everyone else, didn’t know why the dead had suddenly become more animated, but Wendy would not be afraid to suggest some realistic explanations.

  The benefit of hearing opinions from both poles of this community was that sometimes the puzzle was easier to piece together. She collected the last cup and made her way to the exit. She did suspect that Our Lady knew the reason, but that old woman liked to revel in her enigmatic position as some sort of spiritual prophet.

  She left the men to their irrelevant discussions and pushed her trolley out of the room, making her way towards the kitchens. Having her eyeballs and ears in both camps gave Wendy a unique position to observe her fellow tainted colleagues from an objective point of view, and what she saw disturbed the woman greatly.

  If Our Lady did not come away from this weird coma of hers very soon, Wendy feared that her small group of followers would soon fall victim to the fears and paranoia from the non-tainted survivors. These new attacks from the dead had turned everybody’s lives upside down.

  A shudder travelled down Wendy’s body when she realised just how fortunate they had been so far. Thanks to all their rigorous preparations, the encroaching dead had caused minimal damage and only a couple of fatalities. It could have been so much worse. Her mind went into overdrive as another thought made an unwelcome appearance. Just how much damage could a few unchecked rumours cause to the community’s delicate peace? Like a report that a few of the survivors had not been completely truthful during the last break in, that they had suffered bites and were concealing their wounds? Something like that could bring the whole community crashing down around them.

  The tainted needed Our Lady to wake up right now in order to keep them calm and make sure they did not do anything stupid. According to the magistrate, the tainted were just another deviant form of the risen dead and deserved to be dealt with in the same fashion. At the moment, from what she could make out, most un-tainted folk believed that the tainted were no real threat. That could change in a heartbeat if they did not work out why the dead had changed. The magistrate would need a scapegoat.

  “Take that thought out of your mind, Wendy,” she murmured. The situation was bad enough already without her jumping on the paranoia bandwagon.

  The kitchens were empty as Wendy pushed her trolley into the dark room. She turned on the light and allowed a slight smile to play on her lips. As per usual, the place was immaculately clean. The staff had left the kitchens all ready for Dominic when he started in the morning. “I do hope he’s okay.”

  She was not ashamed to admit, at least to herself, that she did have a bit of a thing for the young man, even if Wendy was probably twice his age. Somehow, the fact that she knew that the lovely man was gay only made her crush even sweeter.

  Wendy would not forget the moment when the tainted secret adjustment officer had broken their cardinal rule, and had actually gone and told a non-tainted person that they existed. At the time, Wendy had feared that they would all be lined up against the wall in a matter of hours.

  It wasn’t until the next day that Our Lady had taken her to one side and explained the full situation and the man only knew that his new wife was different. “Even so,” muttered Wendy, “she should have told me beforehand.”

  She finished loading the basin with cups and ran the hot tap, noticing the staff had left a single pie dish at the bottom of the sink. Wendy had to admit that the man’s pies were just amazing; he really could work magic with food. She briefly wondered just how nice his slender fingers would feel stroking her body.

  Looking back, maybe she was a little harsh on Our Lady. So far, everything had turned out alright. No, this situation was totally different; the woman was not even awake for crying out loud. It is not as if Our Lady was not aware that it would happen, she foretold the event months ago.

  Wendy heard a door opening further down the hallway; she guessed that the magistrate must have been fed up with the fawning clowns and adjourned his meeting. Somehow, she doubted those Einstein’s had managed to reach a solution.

  The magistrate would be calling her back to the boardroom at any moment. She grimaced; the slug would require her to massage his back. Wendy rushed over to the other side of the room and turned off the light, she then pressed her back against the wall. She should be able to judge the magistrate’s mood by listening to his poodle’s bitching and complaining as they filed past the kitc
hen. She listened to their heavy breathing and occasional sob as the men shuffled away.

  Not one of them uttered a single word. This was a very bad sign. It only meant one thing; the bastard would demand more than just a simple back rub. Wendy squeezed her hands into tight fists and stifled a sob.

  “Fuck you, Our Lady; I can’t do that to him, not again, not after the last time.” The woman angrily wiped away her tears, waiting with dread for her inevitable summons.

  She imagined he would be struggling out of his clothes about now. The magistrate would waddle over to large bed and lie on top of his scarlet silk covers, with his huge erection standing proudly to attention.

  He would expect Wendy to use her tongue and mouth to pleasure him.

  “Oh god,” her stomach turned over at the disgusting thought of having to humiliate herself once more.

  Wendy had wanted to bleach the last experience from her mind. The last time had been just a couple of months back when that tainted outsider had tried to whip up a riot in the lower boroughs. She had never had the dubious pleasure of meeting this Oliver, at least while he still breathed, but Wendy had heard that he had been very convincing.

  No matter how many times she had tried to forget it, Wendy didn’t think that the memory of his thick semen hitting the roof of her mouth would ever leave her.

  “I can’t do this, not again.” Even her husband had not received her mouth on his penis, and they had been married for thirty-one years.

  Wendy could not decide what she had despised the most, whether it was the post-coital look of satisfaction in his glazed over eyes or the humiliating fact that she had to pretend to enjoy every minute of the torture.

  The door at the end of the hallway slammed shut, signalling the departure of the poodles, no doubt going back to their homes in the elite area of the community to vent their frustrations out on their allocated wives. She took a deep breath before leaving the kitchen. It did not surprise the woman to hear the magistrate’s bell ringing as soon as she closed the door.

  “Come on, Mrs Nikiski,” she muttered. “You’ve done this once; you can do it a second time.” It won’t be that much of a degrading experience as long as she didn’t allow him to explode in her mouth.

  Wendy pushed his door open, shocked but relieved to find that he wasn’t on the bed waiting for her. The magistrate had not moved from the chair.

  He raised his eyes from the table. Gazing at her, he sighed, “Come; sit over here by my side, Wendy. I need to talk to somebody who won’t try to poke their tongue up my arse all the time.”

  This was most unexpected; she had never seen the man like this before, the magistrate looked almost normal. “Would you like me to rub your back?”

  He shook his head, “Not just yet, maybe in a little while,” uttered the man, watching her slowly approach the table.

  Wendy pulled back a chair and walked between him and her chosen seat, she placed her slender hand on his thigh before sitting down. “I’m not sure how I can help you. My expertise does not really extend from domestic duties.” She squeezed his flesh, “I am a good listener though.”

  The magistrate’s hand clamped over her wrist. He squeezed, not tight enough to hurt but there was no chance of her escaping his grip. Her heart leapt into her mouth when the man leant across and gazed into her eyes. She tried to keep her face straight, to not allow him to see the paralysing fear rushing through her bones.

  “Don’t you give me any of that fucking nonsense. Do you think that I’m a complete idiot?”

  She felt his piercing glare strip away her dirty secrets layer by layer. Wendy had been caught and this man would be sure to make an example from her. She wanted to piss herself in fear at the thought of that rope around her neck pulling tight.

  “I want to hear the truth from you, Wendy.”

  He then shocked the woman rigid by bringing her hand up to his mouth and kissing it.

  “If I wanted to hear meaningless platitudes, I wouldn’t have sent all those morons off with a flea in their ear.” The magistrate put her hand back on his thigh and let her go. Wendy resisted the urge to snatch it back.

  “I do care for you, Wendy, and I think that you care for me as well,” he smiled.

  She was unsure how to respond to this shocking news. The man had just thrust her into the limelight. That was not supposed to happen, Wendy’s whole operation depended on discretion and being able to hide in plain sight.

  Wendy looked at this fat man’s expectant face, not knowing what the fuck to do now.

  “I’ve startled you with this, don’t deny it, I can see the shock in your eyes.

  Wendy nodded; it seemed to be the most appropriate response.

  “I’ve surrounded myself with simpering idiots. I feel I’m losing touch.” He shook his head in disappointment.

  “You’ve achieved the impossible; you have brought a small patch of order to chaos. You have been brutal, and hard, and it worked. You have given people their lives back. Now, though, this new upheaval has not brought back their old fears. Your board members are too scared of you to offer any realistic advice.”

  “They know nothing.”

  “Perhaps, but they may have some ideas; even so they won’t share for fear of upsetting you.”

  Was she saying too much? Wendy swallowed down her trepidation and continued. “There may not be an answer for the attacks, it could be another phase. Maybe the things are learning? They only solution is to get your people to channel their fear and turn it to anger, get them to prepare for the next attack.”

  He smiled at her, “Fucking hell, yes, of course. I don’t need anyone else, do I? You’ve just voiced what I have been thinking for the last few hours. I think as your last chore as my keeper, you should get us a bottle of wine to share.”

  Wendy left hurriedly to the cellar, thinking that maybe this was not such a bad idea after all; she may even be able to turn him from his hatred of the tainted. It was a long shot, but it might be possible.

  When she arrived at the heavy wooden door that opened to the cellar she went inside, making sure to lock the door behind her. Wendy walked down each creaky step, thinking that she may be the one to provide a solution to this whole problem after all.

  The sound coming from the left side of the cellar drew her attention away from her search for a sweet merlot. She had no idea what it could be, but her first thought was that moles or rats were tunnelling through the damp, cold walls. Fuck, she hated rats.

  The theory of rats making colonies within the stone walls was ruined when she saw a brick falling to the floor. Another quickly followed its brethren to the floor and Wendy let out an involuntary yelp as she backed away. A small section of the wall collapsed completely, sending a cascade of dirt and dust to the floor. After a bit of the cloud disappeared, Wendy found herself gazing in horror at the rotten skull of one of the dead. Even though she was frozen in fear, her mind was telling her that this thing looked familiar.

  A hunter! This was the same hunter that she had last seen bleeding like a struck animal out in front of the gate.

  It suddenly all clicked into place for the Magistrate's keeper. The dead hunters were taking charge of the hordes, forming an army. That had to be it. They must be able to retain some of their developed brain function when they died and rose again.

  She needed to tell the magistrate. Wendy ran past the dead hunter towards the stairs that led to freedom. She screamed out once more when the hunter lunged forward and grabbed her ankle. As she fell to the floor, she turned and swung the wine bottle in her hand wildly, kicking to free herself from his supernatural grip. Agony flowed through her as he sunk his rotted, filthy teeth deep into her calf.

  Her tears flowed as she yelled out for the third time. She looked over and saw more of the filthy monsters trying to claw through the loose earth, desperate to get at her flesh, their senses piqued by the smell of fresh blood. She tried desperately to pull away, only to have the dead hunter drag her back to his gnawing mouth.
He decided that her leg was not enough, and he climbed his way up her body. Her fourth and final shriek was silenced as the monster bit deep into her neck.

  Chapter Six

  There had to be at least twenty varieties of plants all competing for light over on that tiny patch of land. The contents from that overturned lorry jack-knifed across the road had given the wildlife a good base to run riot. The stuff had even begun to cover the lorry’s cab.

  Moses did not have a clue what used to be inside that container, but he was sure that it had been organic, definitely. His mind may be a bit mushy right now, but even he knew that a container full of bog-roll or computer parts would not rot down to compost.

  “That’s a potato plant,” he murmured. “I’d recognise those leaves anywhere.” They were growing a field full of those in the place where they had come from. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the name; all he received for his hard work was a mild headache. Moses sighed; he supposed that it did not really matter.

  He eased his body off the metal bus shelter seat, listening to his bones creak. The muscles in his legs ached. Moses thrust the uneasy worry about these troubling pains to the back of his mind, confident that they would not last long in that dark place. The back of his mind had turned into a black hole for his memories.

  Moses shook his head, not too sure why he had wanted to get up, then he noticed some familiar looking leaves directly in front of him, He picked up his important box and he stumbled onto the foliage carpeting the road. Those leaves belonged to a potato plant, he was sure of it. He dropped to his knees, placed his important box beside him and pinched off a single leaf, wondering why the shape of it was so familiar.

  “That’s not my real name,” he murmured, “who the fuck is called Moses anyway?” He crushed the leaf between his thumb and forefinger. “Why don’t I know who I am?” He picked off another leaf, not remembering how he had ended up on his knees. He turned and saw a bus shelter behind him. Maybe when the bus arrived the people on board would be able to help him out.