Riley opened the door and stepped out. The man lay on his side naked; his flaccid, lobster-colored penis exposed like some lifeless worm. It protruded from an overabundant area of curly dark hair with two sagging testicles that could’ve been dried prunes. She had never looked upon an adult male’s genitals. Renny’s reproductive area was truly ugly, something that should be kept hidden behind a zipper and cloth. She had no idea what typical penises looked like or if they were all the same, but his was hideous in appearance. Her stomach roiled as a feeling of nausea set in. She knew that any man wanting to lay with a Sister had to be checked for disease and sickness, the Hag personally taking up the task. She wondered how such a task could be performed by a blind woman, but after seeing the things the woman was capable of, she guessed anything was possible.
“Get over here,” Renny demanded.
Riley hesitated. From the corner of her eye she could see light gleaming off the knife’s blade as if signaling her. “I want to please you,” she said.
“Then get over here. You being a virgin and all, I think I’ll have to steer you in the right direction.”
“They teach us things here,” Riley said, winking. She walked toward the table where the knife lay, tracing her index finger along the blade. “How to please a man. Give him what he enjoys.” She wrapped her small fingers around the hilt.
“Hey,” the man said, his voice wary. “Wait.”
Riley turned around, facing her enemy. She held the knife loosely in her right hand, staring at it as if memorized. “I’ll let you use this… Well, not use, but play with this as long as you promise not to cut me.” She glanced up, keeping the blade just below her eyes.
Renny’s eyes went wide before becoming devious-looking slits. His member began to stiffen. He was clearly becoming aroused. Riley took a few steps forward.
“I don’t know if I could control myself,” he told her, his eyes transfixed on the weapon.
Riley had gotten what she so desperately needed—power. She was now, however temporarily, in control. She felt a plethora of emotions: odd, wrong, dirty, wonderful. She realized then that she possessed another tool to use against her enemies. It was too difficult to stop the smirk from growing on her face, so she let it happen. “I know you’d like to place this,” she said, holding out the knife, “to my throat while you have your way with me.” She brought the blade to her neck, just under the chin.
“They never said anything about you Sisters acting like this.” The man was practically drooling, his mouth agape, body trembling.
Riley kept her approach slow, dragging the knife down her chest, between where the slightest hint of breasts were beginning to show.
The man was fully erect and reached out with his hand. “Give me that before you cut yourself,” he told her.
Still out of the man’s grasp, she said, “Like this,” and drew a thin line of red across her forearm. She glanced up after drawing blood to see the man’s tongue lolling out of his mouth like a dog. “You better take this before I really hurt myself.”
The man reached further to take the knife. Riley ducked under his arm, swatting it aside, and lunged forward. Renny’s surprised face was almost comical, his eyes crossing as they followed the knife’s path. He tried to teeter backward, but his other arm was stuck under his body, holding him up. He was defenseless. The blade struck its mark just below his larynx, sinking deep into the supple flesh.
He rolled over, the knife going with him. Riley stumbled backward and watched as the man pulled the blade from his neck. A geyser of blood spurted up and outward. He sat up and stared at Riley with absolute hatred in his eyes.
She cringed at the demonic sight and couldn’t believe he was still able to move. He began coughing, trying to draw in breath. The wound began bubbling and his chest was a field of crimson syrup. He tried speaking, but was only able to mouth the word bitch.
Rising to his feet, coming off the bed, he began to stagger forward. He held the knife out, its cold steel now warm with his life fluid. He walked like a drunk after a late-night binge. Riley saw the hate in his eyes become duller with each dying step he took. She had backed against the wall, watching the grisly scene in dismay. She needed him to die quicker, fearing the Sisters would be alerted and enter the room.
The vision before her was nightmarish. She hated the man and wanted him dead. She’d seen so many horrible deaths, each one adding to her mind’s filing cabinet. How many would it take before she became numb to them? Before the area of her mind that dealt with such atrocities became full? Would she one day crack? Join the insane? Would killing become as easy as breathing? None of that mattered. She was a good person. A caring person. She hadn’t enjoyed any of the kills she had to perform. They were a necessity to her survival. Like eating and sleeping, killing had become an ordinary tool for living in this world and she would be damned if she would let that change her.
The man fell to the ground, leaving a river of blood behind. He writhed and shuddered, the gurgling sounds becoming less frequent until he finally lay still.
Riley had to move. She couldn’t worry about him rising up and joining the undead. Maybe he would aid her in his undead life, becoming a distraction or a danger to those in pursuit of her. She searched the body and found keys. She’d hoped he’d had some kind of weapon besides the knife, but he didn’t. She snatched up the knife, wiping the blood off on Renny’s back, and walked over to the door he had entered through.
Holding the set of keys, she tried a few before finding the correct one. She unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Lining up one eye with the small crevice, she looked through. She didn’t know how much time she had before the procreating period was supposed to be over, but she guessed awhile from what she’d heard.
Unable to see much through the small crack, she pushed the door open further. Riley winced as the hinges creaked, squealing like frightened pigs. She froze, glancing over her shoulder, but no one came in. She was being paranoid and continued opening the door, stopping when she saw a guard patrolling the road. His back was to her and he was walking away. He must have just finished his check of the exterior of the Sisters’ apartment building and was on his way back to wherever he came from.
Riley waited until the guard disappeared around a bend in the road. Throwing on her hood, she exited the room, locking the door behind her. Glancing around, she saw her way was clear of life. She’d read about ghost towns in books and the scene before her reminded her of such. The Sisters barely left the complex, and she wouldn’t have to worry about them spotting her through the building’s windows.
She stayed close to the building anyway, not wanting to be out in the open, and worked her way to the wall along the road. Rusted, crushed automobiles lay stacked upon each other like metal pancakes with coiled barbed wire along the top.
She began scurrying along the road, keeping an ear and an eye out for guards. Most of the buildings lining the streets were boarded up and appeared empty. The garage she’d been in when she first entered the city was still a ways off and she wouldn’t have to worry about that for now.
The farther away she got from the Sisters’ building, the more a sense of freedom welled in her heart. She studied the wall for breaks or holes where she could climb through. She’d seen them on her way in, small places a young girl could get through with a little struggle.
Forgetting about her surroundings, caught up in the escape, she heard a shot ring out followed by a dull clunk where the bullet pierced the metal of a crushed automobile. Down the road, a guard, different than the one she’d seen earlier, stood about thirty feet away and was pointing a rifle in her direction. “Don’t move,” he said.
Riley froze, shutting her eyes. “Shit,” she whispered. She held the knife in her right hand, hoping the guard hadn’t seen it, and tucked it up her sleeve.
The man began walking toward her, keeping the rifle pointed at her, but using only one arm as the other held up a walkie-talkie. He brought the device to his mouth
and spoke something into it before returning the thing to his belt. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“I was attacked,” she answered, thinking quickly. “The man sent to impregnate me had a knife. I was running to get help.” The man stopped directly in front of her, his weapon resting on his hip now. Riley kept her head down. The man grabbed her hood and pulled it back to see her face.
“Hey,” he said, surprised. “You’ve still got your eyes, and you’re so young. You must be that new special one everybody keeps talking about.” He went to grab his walkie again, probably to report his find, when Riley took action.
She let the knife slide into her palm, gripping it loosely like she’d been taught, and gave the man’s groin a surgical uppercut, squeezing the handle on impact. The blade sunk in to the hilt. His mouth opened in shock, but no sounds came out. He dropped the rifle, placed a weak hand on Riley before crumpling to the ground. She tried grabbing the knife to pull it out, but the man was kicking wildly and began to shriek. Needing him to be quiet, she began kicking him in the face before realizing the throat would be a better target and silenced his cries there. He writhed around, his face turning red then purple.
Riley picked up the rifle and put a round in the man’s forehead. More voices rang out from down the street. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and began climbing the makeshift perimeter. Ascending was easy, so many divots and holes for her small hands and feet, but the barbed wire would prove different.
Shots began sounding from far off. Riley climbed faster, slipping a few times, but managing. Tiny punctures appeared in the automobiles’ metal flesh where the bullets connected. The barbed wire wasn’t in the best shape, allowing her passage, but not without some ghastly gashes along her arms and legs. Feeling the wind from bullets brush her hair, she tried hurrying down the other side, but wound up falling. Luckily, she landed safely on the roof of an old Chevy Camaro a few feet from the ground.
Getting to her feet, feeling no broken bones from the fall, she climbed down the rest of the way to the ground. Men from the other side were shouting.
Riley stood with her back against the Camaro, deciding her best course of action, when a sharp, vise-like pain erupted from her right ankle. Looking down, her breath caught in her chest. Her eyes went wide and she began to shake as a zombie continued to gnaw away at her leg.
Chapter Twelve
Infection
The zombie tore into Riley’s flesh like a starved wolf. The pain was intense, like a saw’s blade cutting into her, making her scream. Everything blacked out of view, except for the rotten yellowed teeth in the zombie’s mouth, as if she was peering through a dark tunnel at them. Regaining her station quickly, realizing she needed to do something, she slammed the gun’s muzzle against the thing’s head and pulled the trigger.
The weapon jerked wildly and let out an ear-deafening crack. The damage was awesome—the back of the zombie’s head disintegrating into tiny morsels of sodden dust. The force from the shot caused the living corpse to lose its grip and Riley quickly pulled her leg away from the creature.
The undead thing was still moving, the eye-brain connection obviously not severed. It began clawing itself toward her—a callous clump of decayed meat. Aiming, holding the gun tighter, Riley fired at the zombie’s forehead. It blew apart, leaving a motionless dead body with a stump where the head used to be. She had no idea what kind of rifle she was using, but it was powerful, almost too much so.
She took off running, but immediately collapsed to the ground, her ankle screaming at her. Fighting through the pain, she rose to her feet and began limping as fast as she could away from the wall.
She was in a wooded area, a small city preserve. Looking ahead, she saw five undead coming her way. She waited for them to draw nearer and began firing. With each shot, her shoulder ached with pain. The gun had no suppressor, her body taking the full brunt of the recoil. She kept missing wildly. It was too difficult to aim with her ankle and shoulder aching. As the undead drew closer, she decided to use the power to her advantage. Yelling at the top of her lungs, she began shooting at the zombies’ bodies.
The frail undead bodies, for they were horribly decayed, began falling apart like papier-mache dolls. Arms and legs fell away—the zombies’ bodies shuddering, as if electrocuted, under the barrage of bullets. Riley managed to kill only one, but it didn’t matter as the others were reduced to jumbled piles of body parts. And just as the last zombie fell, the gun clicked empty.
The undead were down and her way appeared clear, at least for the moment. She could no longer hear the men’s voices from the other side of the wall. Silence filled her ears, the gun’s retort temporarily deafening her. She needed her hearing, it was an important survival tool, but it was nothing she could worry about now. She had to keep moving. She glanced backward to the wall and saw no bodies coming over the top, yet. Turning back around, she took a step forward, her ankle screaming again, and halted immediately. More undead were approaching through the trees like ghosts from a graveyard. Their numbers kept multiplying. The gunfire must’ve alerted them. Out of bullets and with her ankle making it impossible to run, Riley didn’t know what to do.
She didn’t want to be eaten alive, ripped apart and devoured. Looking down at her blood-soaked gown, she realized what her future held and realized being eaten was a better outcome than becoming a member of the undead. She wished she had a single bullet left, one that would end her life and keep her from rising afterward. Her fear was quickly vanquished by the seething anger growing in her bones. How the hell could she have let all this happen? This was not the way she wanted to go out, couldn’t go out. Damn them. She closed her eyes, body tense, ready to accept the pain that was to come before her death. She thought of her father, and hoped to be alongside him soon and to see the mother that she never had a chance to meet.
The faint sound of gunshots rang out. Riley heard yelling, barely audible. She opened her eyes and saw the zombies’ heads exploding like smashed watermelons. Turning around, she saw armed gang members on top of the wall firing like gunslingers at the undead. A few of the men were rappelling down the makeshift wall. Up top, she saw the fat leader barking commands and pointing at her. She read his lips: “Get the girl,” they said. There was nothing she could do and was scooped up by one of the gang. He grabbed her in a bear hug and dragged her back to the wall where a few other gang members waited.
Once the zombies were destroyed and the gunfire ended, the big man spoke. “Caused quite a bit of trouble for us, you did.” He then nodded to a man standing in front of Riley. He raised his hand and punched her in the face, knocking her out cold.
Riley woke up in a low-lit room. The air was dank and musty smelling, swamp-like. The walls were a dingy gray cinder block and bare except for an occasional graffiti tag. She could hear a man and a woman talking. She recognized the Hag’s voice.
“She’s trouble,” the man said.
“Once she wakes up, we’ll be better able to decide her fate, for I did not see this coming,” the Hag said. She saw the man coming near her, and feigned sleep. Standing over her, his rank body odor filled Riley’s nose, making her want to gag.
“Wake up,” he told her, shaking the bed she was lying on. Riley pretended to come to, slowly.
“Wha…what’s going on?” she said.
“Get up,” the man hollered.
Riley saw his large grimy hand reach over her head and felt him grab her by the hair, yanking her upward.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she said.
The man held her tightly, bringing his ugly face within inches of hers. “You troublesome little bitch,” he said, his breath making her cringe. He let go of her hair, cupping her chin instead. “You’re way more trouble than…” he began, but Riley stopped him by grabbing his wrist and sinking her teeth into his flesh. She bit down as hard as she could, tasting his blood. The man pushed his other hand into her face as he howled in surprise, trying to shove her off. After slipping his
hand away, the damage done, he raised his hand to strike.
“Enough,” the Hag yelled. “Don’t you lay a hand on her.” The big man froze, the Hag’s words paralyzing him.
“You little cunt,” the man said, his face scarlet with anger. Riley winked, wanting to send the man over the edge, and succeeded. With his hand still raised, he smacked her across the face.
“That will be enough,” the Hag bellowed and was on the big man like manacles of flesh before he knew it.
The sting of the slap was awful, but Riley managed to shake it off. “Please, my Lady. Don’t let him hurt me anymore, like the other man did.”
The Hag came over, moving as if she had eyes and sat on the bed. “Tell me what happened, my dear.”
“This is bullshit,” the big man said, looming behind the Hag. “She’s playing you for a fool.”
“Silence. I will hear the girl’s words now.”
Riley went on to explain what had happened in the room with Renny. How the man had been abusive—cutting her with his knife and making her fight for her life. She told the Hag that she had no choice but to defend herself and run when the Sisters did not show.
“She’s lying,” the man said, still infuriated and pointing a fat stubby finger in her direction. “She left the compound. Tried to escape, she did.”
Riley grasped the Hag’s arms. “I saw a guard outside patrolling. I tried talking to him, tell him what had happened, but he began shooting at me. I froze, not wanting to get shot, and then he said he would have his way with me before returning me to the room.”
“My men would never do such a thing. Disobeying orders is a death sentence. No one touches a Sister without permission.”
Riley pushed up her gown’s sleeve, revealing the cut she’d given herself earlier. Grabbing the Hag’s hand, she said, “Feel this, my Lady, and see that I do not lie.” The Hag traced the wound. “And my ankle too. The man began to bite me viciously and I feared he wanted to be like the undead.”
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