Zombiekill

by Russ Watts

  “What are you doing? What is this?” Butcher shouted.

  Charlie smiled. She stepped back from the controls. “You think we’d let you go? You’re zombiekill.”

  Butcher looked around the room, but there was no way out. Everything was locked down tight, and there was no way past the corpses. They kept filing into the room and were almost on him. Butcher ran for the door and began frantically pulling at it, trying to get his fingers around the frame and get the door open. A fingernail broke off but he kept going, desperate to get out. The door to Attwood’s house was locked shut, and no amount of violence would open it.

  “You fuckers, open this fucking door. Open it now, you evil fucking witches!”

  Charlie leant over the control panel and smiled as Butcher scrambled to get the door open. “Fight or die, Butcher. That’s your only choice now.”

  As the first zombie reached him, Butcher swung his cleaver at it, and it lodged itself firmly in the man’s head. The zombie reeled backward and fell down dead but was replaced quickly by another. Butcher tried to throw punches at them, but he was too slow. The dead woman in the sari grabbed his right arm and sank her teeth into his wrist. Blood spurted out vociferously, and Butcher felt one of the dead children grab his crotch. Small teeth began to nip at his upper thigh, and fingers clawed at his legs. A black man with half of his face missing pushed his way forward and began to rip at Butcher’s clothes. Another man, his arms eaten away to just bloody stumps, nestled his head in the crook of Butcher’s neck and began to bite the soft skin. A slim white woman with bright red hair and two pits of maggots where her eyes used to be sank her teeth into his face and pulled off a hunk of meat from his forehead. She swallowed the supple skin quickly and then sank her teeth back into him. Her jaw clamped around his eye socket, and he could feel her teeth ripping out his eyeball. His arms were held in a vice by the others, and there was literally nothing he could do to fight them off.

  Butcher screamed as the zombies overwhelmed him. He sank to his knees with teeth and fingers ripping open his skin, tasting his delicate flesh and drinking his warm blood. He wanted to push them back but their numbers were too great. The annex was full of them. They had succeeded in getting in at last, and the faint light was enough for him to see that he couldn’t fight them off. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced, and he defecated as he realized he was dying. He was slowly being eaten alive, and as an arm was wrenched from its socket, he let out one last bloodcurdling scream.

  Smiling, Charlie opened the door that led down to the grounds of Attwood’s property. Rilla joined her in the doorway, the sounds of the dead and dying beneath them. The single bulb gave them a little light and showed them that the corpses of Tad and Conan were still down there, drawn by the whistling.

  “Let’s take care of those two,” said Charlie. She touched the pendant hanging around her neck, and the faint echoes of an old song trickled through her mind.

  ‘I want to kiss your mouth, hold your hand, and all I feel is the distant wind as you turn your back on me.’

  Rilla nodded. “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” said Charlie honestly. “We could stay here and try to help others? There must be more people out there like us.”

  “Or we could run. We could get as far away from this fucking place as possible,” suggested Rilla.

  “I’m not going to turn away and forget.”

  Rilla looked at Charlie, puzzled.

  “It’s something my Mom said once just before she died. She never ran away from anything or anyone. There are others out there, Rilla; others who haven’t been given a second chance like you and me. Truth is I hadn’t thought much past getting back here, finding you, and dealing with Butcher. I guess we’ve got time to figure it out. I just know that I need to rest,” said Charlie.

  Get Rilla.

  The darkness enveloping Charlie had served her well. It was done. It was finally over. She wiggled a loose tooth at the back of her jaw and pulled her father’s cap down on her aching head. “I need some more painkillers. Then I think I’m going to sleep for at least a week. There’s only one thing I know for sure, Rilla. As long as we’re together, we’ll be okay. From now on it’s you and me.”

  “You and me,” said Rilla, grasping Charlie’s hand. “Forever.”

  “As for the future?” Charlie leant her weary head on Rilla’s shoulder. “I guess we’ll see.”

  THE END

  Read on for a free sample of The Infected.

  Acknowledgements

  I hope you find ‘Zombiekill’ entertaining and yet perhaps more than just another zombie novel. With what is going on in the world there are some serious questions we need to ask ourselves about what direction man is headed for: division or unity?

  Please check out the numerous quality novels Severed Press have also have produced at www.severedpress.com.

  Also consider leaving a review and pay a visit to my website www.russwatts.co or look at my other titles:

  The Afflicted

  The Grave

  The Ocean King

  Devouring the Dead

  Devouring the Dead 2: Nemesis

  Goliath

  Hamsikker

  Hamsikker 2

  Hamsikker 3

  PART ONE: NEW HOPE

  1

  Alarms blared overhead as dozens of people crowded together on either side of the laundry facility. A handful of soldiers scrambled back and forth, securing the room's steel doors. Their shouts meshed with the sobs and pleas of panicked workers, creating a discordant orchestra of chaos.

  Samantha Albright and Rebecca Young huddled against the wall at the forefront of the crowd. The overhead fluorescents gleamed in Rebecca's wide blue eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks. Sam knelt, so that she was eye-level with the little girl and grasped her by the shoulders.

  "What's happening?" Rebecca asked. Her high-pitched voice wavered when she spoke, and Sam struggled to maintain her composure.

  "You know what's happening," Sam said. "They've breached the walls."

  "It's not a drill?"

  "No. It's not a drill."

  "Will everything be okay?"

  "Yes."

  "How do you know?"

  "I just do."

  Across from them, an old woman clutched a cross in a wrinkled fist and whispered prayers to it. Sam wanted to tell her not to waste her breath. God had stopped listening to them a long time ago. Instead, she looked back to Rebecca, offered the child a confident smile, and wiped her wet cheeks with the soiled sleeve of her coverall.

  Outside the facility, a round of gunfire burst through the air and Sam pulled Rebecca to her knees. She grabbed the girl's small hands and squeezed them tight as she fought back her own urges to cry. She hadn't cried since coming to New Hope. That had been a decade ago. Her eyes stung as the backlog of tears threatened to spill over. She pulled Rebecca closer and kissed her on the top of her head.

  "It'll be okay," Sam said.

  "You promise?"

  "I promise." She tried to sound strong, tried to speak in measured tones, but her trembling voice betrayed her.

  Two soldiers ran past and positioned themselves at either side of the main entrance. The one on the left side of the door shouted commands to his partner. The patch on his breast pocket had the name 'Horn' stitched onto it. His face was grizzled and hardened.

  The other soldier's name was Dennis Freeman. He was 19—five years younger than Sam—and had lived in the same region before the outbreak. His baby-face was far less menacing than Horn's gruff appearance and his finger twitched as it lay against the trigger. Freeman's presence didn't instill the same level of confidence as Horn's.

  "I don't want to die," Rebecca said.

  "We're not going to—"

  Sam's wavering promise was interrupted as a man crashed through the window in the front of the room. Screams erupted from the crowd as the body convulsed on the ground. The man wore the same fatigues as Freeman and Horn. Blood
spewed from a gaping wound in the man's neck and showered the left side of the room.

  Sam's heart seized as the hot blood splattered across her face. Her eyes slammed shut and her lips pinched together. She let go of Rebecca's hand and wiped the blood from her face with the sleeve of her coverall—careful not to let any get in her mouth, nose or eyes.

  Rebecca let out a stifled yelp and Sam's eyes shot open. Her heart lurched at the sight of the little girl doused in crimson. The whites of her eyes were red. Blood covered every entry point. For one long second, Sam sat frozen and horror.

  "Sam?"

  Sam pressed her sleeve to the girl's face and wiped it away, as she struggled to take a breath.

  "It's okay," Sam said. "It's not bad at all."

  Rebecca answered with a sob.

  The man who had crashed through the window stopped convulsing and lay still. Sam held her breath as the two soldiers took a tentative step toward him. Suddenly, the man shot to his feet. Sam caught the briefest glimpse of his milky-white eyes. He was no longer a man. No longer a living, breathing soul. He was infected.

  "What are you waiting for?" Horn screamed as he lifted his rifle.

  It was too late.

  An inhuman scream ripped through the room and Sam's skin erupted in gooseflesh. A guttural growl followed the scream and the infected man lunged at Freeman. The young soldier tried to backpedal and fired two blind shots as he did. They missed wide and lodged into the wall above the crowd on the right side of the room. The infected man grabbed ahold of Freeman's field jacket and sunk his teeth deep within the soldier's neck. The two collapsed to the ground, and Sam heard the bone-chilling sound of flesh ripping from the young man's throat. Freeman managed a scream which devolved into a nauseating gurgle. Two more gunshots tore through the room and both the infected man and Freeman stopped moving.

  Horn's eyes were wide and his skin was ashen. His eyes swept the gruesome scene on the floor and then darted to the group of onlookers covered in blood. He hesitated for the briefest moment and then pulled a white lever next to the door. Sprinklers emerged from the ceiling and drenched the room.

  The alarms stopped a few minutes after the shooting. Three Ministry buses idled outside the facility within an hour of the incident. The soldiers forced everyone onto the buses and sent them to the Infection Control Center for testing. The ICC resided in the center of New Hope within spitting distance of the capital building.

  Sam covered her eyes as she exited the bus. The pale sun hung high in the air as the group trotted from the bus to the lobby of the small building. She savored the few seconds of warmth it provided before entering through the two glass doors.

  Sam took her place in line with the rest of the workers from laundry. They had been exposed to contaminated blood and the ICC would examine them at extensive lengths before rejoining the population. Rebecca stood in front of her. The young girl shivered and clutched her stomach.

  "I'm infected," Rebecca whispered as they moved a step forward.

  "No you're not." Sam kept her voice low as a soldier walked past them.

  "Okay."

  "Do you believe me?"

  "No."

  Sam started to say something but her words fell short. Instead, she squeezed the girl's shoulders, hoping to give her a little comfort. The shaking assuaged, and the girl took a deep breath.

  "Next," a voice said. It belonged to a squat woman with short silver hair who sat at a desk at the front of the line. Two soldiers armed with automatic rifles stood behind her on opposite sides of a steel door. They wore stoic expressions but their eyes darted from side to side—scanning for anyone that displayed symptoms of infection.

  Roger Farris, a gaunt man in his late sixties, moved from the head of the line to the woman's desk and sat down in the metal chair. Everyone in line took one silent step forward as Roger pressed his face against the retina scanner mounted on the desk. A couple dozen people separated Sam and Rebecca from the woman at the desk.

  The testing wasn't new to any of them. Every Friday, the ICC selected a large group of citizens and brought them to the quarantine center. The workers drew their blood and scanned their retinas. Their vitals taken and recorded. In the ten years Sam lived in New Hope, there had never been a breach and no one had ever tested positive.

  "No!" Roger screamed. "That's not right." He clambered to his feet and the metal chair flew back and clanked against the concrete floor. The two soldiers approached him, their guns raised and aimed. A third soldier emerged from the rear of the line. Sam's heartbeat quickened and her breath caught in her chest. More soldiers came from the door beyond the silver-haired woman's desk and swarmed upon him.

  It took less than ten seconds to secure the man and drag him through the doorway. The heavy metal door slammed shut, but Sam could still hear Roger's muffled screams. A single gunshot echoed beyond the door. And then there was silence.

  Before Sam reached the front of the line, the soldiers had taken three more people to the room beyond the desk. Gary DeLaney, Maria Gomez and… Rebecca Young.

  They carried the young girl away as she pled for someone to save her. Sam screamed for them to stop and tried to pry Rebecca from their arms. One soldier broke from the group and pinned Sam against the wall.

  The small girl clawed at the doorframe as tears poured from her clouded eyes. And then she was gone. Her small body disappeared behind the veil of darkness and the door swung shut. The soldier let go and Sam collapsed to her knees.

  "She's a child for god's sake," Sam cried. "You can't—"

  The report of the gunshot interrupted her and a gut-wrenching scream burst from Sam's throat. The world blurred and grew distorted. She didn't notice the soldier's hands forcing her to the ground or the pinprick of the needle as it punctured her skin. The light faded from her eyes and darkness swallowed her.

  The Infected is available from Amazon here