Death Plague [Four Zombie Novels]

by Ian Woodhead

The constable had stumbled upon a sleeping vagrant. Was he a stray medi-center deserter, like Kenny? The constable shook the vagrant, like a dog shaking a rabbit, before dropping him on the ground. Kenny squeezed his eyes shut, his tiny groan lost under the gunshot. Unable to stop himself, Kenny groaned again. The bastard didn’t even scan the poor man’s forehead.

  The spluttering noise issuing from Kenny wasn’t just due to him witnessing that execution; his last supply of drugs keeping death at bay were wearing off. The cold was already creeping into his body. If he survived detection for the next few minutes, Kenny wouldn’t give a fuck about hiding from some teenage government constable. He wouldn’t care that his sister was supposed to be rushing back with a fresh supply of Beldazine. All Kenny would care about was closing his jaws around that bastard’s neck and ripping off pieces of his soft flesh.

  Kenny’s foot rebelled against the cramp in a spasm, knocking his leg against a rusting tin can. The constable jerked his head away from the bloodied rags by his feet, staring at where Kenny cowered behind the mattress.

  The dim yellow glow coming from the old streetlight above them allowed Kenny to see a nasty smile spread slowly across the uniformed bastard’s face.

  The constable teased, “Come on out. You don’t have to be scared of me. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Look, I know you’re in there.”

  Kenny tried to resist the ice crystallizing in his blood. There was still a chance that his sister would come back. He couldn’t give up.

  “Look, I haven’t got all night, you know. I know what you want. I have loads of the stuff.” He gripped his belt. “It’s medicinally pure as well. I bet it's been a long time since you’ve shot-up with anything this good. Come on, friend. Out you get. You know I only want to take care of you.”

  Kenny formed a tight fist, feeling his ragged nails dig into his palm; the pain helped his mind resist those hypnotic words.

  Oh God. It would be effortless to let go, to give in to the disease, Even now, Kenny felt the cold dead minds of the others out there so eager for him to join their ranks. There weren’t that many of the true walking dead left within their walled city, not any more. But there were enough of them out there to have the strength to scratch at his thoughts, eager for him to join their number.

  That constable wouldn't stand a chance if Kenny did turn. He wasn’t fooled by the youth’s posturing; he was no more than a kid. Too young to have gone up against any of the risen in the initial outbreak, and he probably wouldn’t have been around during the purge that followed a few years later.

  The city’s founders wouldn’t waste any of their security forces to search around the filthy back alleys, poking through refuse for runaways. Kenny was betting the little bastard had never gone up against a single living corpse in all of his miserable life.

  Kenny didn’t want to bite anyone, not even a constable. He just wanted his old life back. Was that too much to ask? A single tear ran down his cheek as he watched the kid pull the other body out from its hiding place. Kenny saw a lot of blood, but somehow the constable hadn’t killed the other stray. He noticed movement in its legs. The constable then slammed the butt of his rifle down on the body. Kenny winced at the sound of cracking bones.

  “I’m rapidly losing patience here. It’s simple. If you don’t show your scabby diseased face in the next ten seconds, I’ll just shoot off a few rounds into those crates. You know that I can take you back either dead or alive ... I’m giving you a chance here.”

  Only the sight of food, the smell of fresh human flesh occupied what was left of Kenny's mind. He stood up, distantly wondering where the ache had gone. Even that thought vanished when he heard the strong thumping heart pumping all that hot, sweet blood through that body.

  Lurching forward, Kenny saw the constable's expression transform from menace to terror. He was faintly aware of noises—footsteps behind him. But nothing mattered now, apart from getting to his food—to feast on the flesh, to fill ...

  He yelped as something sharp jabbed the back of his neck. Kenny fell to his knees, and the constable dropped to the ground as if joining him in prayer.

  Kenny heard distorted noises, like people shouting underwater. He gritted his teeth. It was like a fire coursing through his body. All that stopped him from falling forward was the constable kneeling in front of him, his eyes staring at something behind Kenny. His mind was a maze of flashing lights and buzzing static which were evicted by the reality of an exploding boom.

  The top of the man’s head disappeared in a cloud of red mush, and the constable fell forward with grey and red lumps spilling from his skull.

  “Are you with me, Kenny? Come on, say something!” Was the voice real?

  Kenny lifted his arm and groaned at the dull ache that accompanied the movement. He grabbed at the back of his neck and tugged, pulling out a small syringe. Kenny started to cry; he felt arms circle his chest.

  “I’m so sorry that it took so long, Kenny.” The voice was real! It was Diane, his sister. “You have no idea how hard it was to get you a ration in time.”

  “Thank you,” Kenny said softly.

  “Come on, you. We need to get away from here. We need to …” Diane's voice ended with a strangled squeak.

  Kenny spun around and found the cold barrel of a shotgun pressed hard against his forehead, and heard a dark voice saying, “So, you’re the big brother. I expected something a little more impressive. You don't strike me as being enough for this sweet little girl to be offering me everything she's got to keep you alive.”

  A well-built blonde man stared down at Kenny. “Hello there, my little grave-monkey.” The man smiled, displaying a mouthful of pure white teeth. With his hard brown eyes, the stranger looked like a shark. Kenny then noticed the uniform, the sergeant stripes on the constable’s uniform. No way could this muscle-bound gorilla be part of the constabulary. This fucker reeked of power. Alarm bells rang in Kenny’s head. The face looked very familiar.

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about my uniform, you grave-monkey. I just use this to get around this part of the city without any of my adoring fans from noticing me.” The man crouched down. “Now, I know that shot you just got is making you feel like you want to go flying through the clouds, but I need you to focus. This next bit is important.”

  Kenny was nodding. He didn’t feel all that bad now.

  “This is a booster shot,” said the big guy, shaking his long blond hair and waving another syringe back and forth. “If you don’t get this one, your high will only last a few more minutes. Do you want it, my little grave-monkey?”

  “Oh God, yes please.” Kenny's eyes couldn't stop following the amber fluid as it gleamed in the murky light.

  “Are you sure you want this? There’ll be no backing out.” He waved the syringe in front of Kenny’s eyes. “I’ll own you and you’ll do whatever my black heart desires.”

  Kenny first shot was already going flat. “I got it! Give me that booster, man! I won’t interfere; whatever you say goes.”

  The man chuckled before pushing the needle into Kenny’s neck. He then grabbed Diane, squeezing her breast through her thin shirt.

  The drug ricocheted in Kenny’s mind like a hexagonal bullet, giving every edge in his vision a bright green outline. The big guy's image trailed a cascade of tiny stars as he bent forward to kiss Diane.

  Kenny had to shut his eyes; despite the warm chemical fuzz, he couldn't bear to watch this gorilla molesting his sister—especially in glorious Technicolor. But blocking the vision only intensified the rage. He couldn't let that fucker take advantage of his young sister ... “Get your paws off her, you asshole! She’s only seventeen!” His eyes opened again to see the big guy's face lit with an enormous grin.

  “Oh my, we are going to have so much fun together. You’re a regular clown, Kenny.” The man released Diane and stepped over to where Kenny lay. “Oh, how rude of me, I haven’t introduced myself. I'm Rossini. But you call me Mister Rossini ... and I’ll call you grave-monkey.”
On his approach Rossini had pulled down his zip, and now tugged out his dick and started pissing.

  Kenny had just enough of his senses functioning to roll away from the oncoming urine stream, but he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the splash dampening his boots and slacks.

  Rossini laughed softly, then grabbed the uniformed corpse by its ankles and dragged it along the wet cobbles. The movement caused the other body to roll onto its side. The vagrant groaned, but the noise issued did not belong to one of the risen. The poor man was still alive. Still dragging the constable's body with one hand, with the other Rossini slid his shotgun off his shoulder, aimed the gun at the moving pile of rags and squeezed the trigger.

  Rags, flesh and blood splattered against a pile of plastic bags. Kenny looked up into Rossini's smiling face, wondering if this piece of human garbage had ever possessed a soul. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

  Rossini shrugged his large shoulders. “For fun, I guess ... although I enjoy spreading happiness and joy, I have come to realize that I can never fully apply myself if I’m not happy myself, and I really do enjoy killing people. Slaughter the dead before they slaughter you, folks!” He blew across the top of gun-barrel, then flashed Kenny a dazzling white smile. “You see, I’ve made millions from that catchphrase. Of course, being the vacant-eyed piece of shit that you are, you won’t have a fucking clue what I’m talking about.”

  Kenny stared hard at Rossini’s perfectly angled features, green eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. There was something else too he hadn’t noticed until now. A flash of green at the cuffs of his grubby uniform suggested hints of metal beneath the fabric, like armor?

  He groaned out loud when all the pieces fitted together. He lifted his eyes and gazed at the huge streetscreen at the far end of the building, facing the alleyway. It now displayed the garish images of three athletic men, dressed in bright blue one-piece garish outfits, attempting to kill a dead thing chained to a filthy wall. Oh fuck, the show’s host stood directly in front of him.

  “There we are, I just love it when one of the herd actually recognizes me.” Rossini walked over to the constable, then bent down and started to go through his pockets. He paused to chuckle when he pulled out a black leather wallet. “Hey Kenny, can you believe this?”

  He threw the wallet towards him. Kenny picked it up when it landed beside his knee. His fingers traced the silver-stitched logo of Rossini’s highest rated show, Celebrity Slaughter, on the back of the dead man’s wallet.

  “Well, at least the little bastard died by the hands of the host from his favorite show. Not many kids would be so lucky.”

  Kenny opened it and took out the kid’s hunting license, sighing when he saw that the kid’s license had been revoked.

  “Yes, like I said, my mission is to spread happiness and joy, but while doing that I scout for potential guests for my show. You should be glad that your delicious sister found me and not some poison peddler. If that had happened, you would have missed out on all this glorious fun!” Rossini walked back to Diane and wrapped his fingers around hers. “Now, since you’ve already said yes, I suppose it would be bad manners not to tell you what you’ve agreed to ...”

  “You don’t have to, you fucker. It’s obvious that you want me on your show.”

  “Well done, and I think that my terms are very generous. In fact, I think you have the stamina to last more than a couple of bouts.” Rossini chuckled. “Hell, I might even let you watch me fuck her tonight. Won’t that be something to look forward to?”

  Diane was trembling, on the edge of breaking into tears, but she gulped deep breaths to control herself.

  Kenny eyed the gun that had flown out of the constable’s hands when this monster had shot off the top of his head. There was no way that he’d allow Rossini to brutalize the only family he had left. Better to die than let that happen. They had to get away from this freak as soon as possible. He was bound to have some back-up waiting for him down a side street somewhere.

  God, he was so weak, he needed to play this carefully and keep this fucker appeased until his strength returned. Taking a deep breath, Kenny twisted his body and gazed up at Rossini. “Thank you. Thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t shown up, I would be dead now.”

  Rossini nodded. “That's right, you would be dead, you’d stay dead too. Now, it’s time that we made tracks. I need something to eat.”

  He walked over to Kenny and wrapped his thick fingers around his wrist. “I’m surprised that you’ve lasted so long. There’s hardly any meat left on your bones.” The man then pulled out a pair of handcuffs and snapped one bracelet around Kenny’s wrist and the other around the wrist of the dead constable. “I’ll be ten minutes,” he said, pushing Diane over to Kenny, then ran down the alley.

  “Has he hurt you?”

  Diane shook her head. She sat down beside him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m so sorry, Kenny. I didn’t know where else to go. Our normal suppliers have gone to ground. He was the only one willing to trade.” She sighed. “How the fuck didn't I recognize the clown, his face is everywhere. Kenny, I’m so sorry.”

  “It's not your fault, you did what you promised, you got me another supply. We both know what would have happened to my body if you hadn’t found me more drugs.”

  “Do you feel okay?”

  He shrugged, not knowing the answer to that one. "I wish I had a saw. I'd even settle for a penknife." He tugged on the chain, feeling the weight of the dead man pull his arm back to the ground. “It’s ironic really; zombie Kenny would have liked to have been handcuffed to his lunch. Oh baby sis, I'm buzzing on the shit the Green Knight has jacked into me." Kenny was feeling a lot better. Though his strength had yet to return, his determinative was bolstering. "Look, we're both alive, that's the main thing. I promise that I won't let him touch a hair on your head."

  “How the fuck are you going to stop him?" Diane asked, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Oh God, he could come back any second!” Leaning over Kenny she dragged the constable's rifle off the body. "I'm not going to let him touch me, no fucking way."

  He clamped his hand over her mouth and looked up at the sight of the man rushing over to them. Kenny dropped the gun and pushed her head into his chest. Rossini’s expression didn’t falter as he raised his own gun and pointed it at Kenny’s face. There was no sign of shock or betrayal; if anything, the smug bastard looked amused.

  "You've really hurt my feelings now," Rossini said, chuckling. "No, really. I thought that at least one of you would honor our agreement. It looks like you'll both have to work very hard to get back on my good side."

  "Don't you ever shut up, you conceited asshole?" Diane got to her feet and grabbed the gun, keeping it pointed at his face. "Give me the keys for the handcuffs ... right now, or I swear that I'll blow off your head.”

  Kenny saw no submission in Rossini's eyes. He just kept his steel gaze fixed on Diane and defiantly smirked.

  "Honey, you really are a feisty little piece. I'm so going to enjoy breaking you." Switching his focus to Kenny. "Do you seriously believe that I'd leave the gun here if I didn't know that it was empty?"

  Diane tensed, like a large cat about to pounce. Rossini was still laughing. She pulled her finger and nothing happened.

  “I did say.”

  Screaming with rage, Diane kept squeezing the trigger. Each time a dry click sounded it was accompanied by Rossini’s chuckles.

  "Okay, you've had your fun." Rossini reached down for his own gun. "Time to get back to ..."

  Kenny was surprised when his sister rushed over to Rossini and slammed the gun butt into the side of his head. The man dropped like a brick. Kenny stared, not sure if he could believe his own eyes as Diane stood over the felled TV presenter, staring at the gun in her hands with a look of distaste and shock on her face.

  She looked at Kenny. "Have I killed him?"

  "Who gives a shit? Find the keys and get me off this body!"

  Diane started to se
arch through Rossini's pockets.

  The euphoria that came with the resurrection drugs was starting to flatten already. Kenny was concerned that the shot he'd been given was fast-burn.

  Diane was struggling with the lock on the cuffs and cursing. Kenny turned his head just enough to see that their self-proclaimed savior wasn’t quite as dead as he’d have liked. Rossini was on his hands and knees and shaking his head from side to side. Kenny tried to shout a warning, but his reaction was too slow. Rossini's arm lashed out and snatched a handful of Diane's hair.

  "Enough fucking about," Rossini snarled. "Toss me my gun, or I'll kill the fucking pair of you."

  Diane cried out and stopped struggling when Rossini's grip tightened. Kenny felt his muscles start to lock up. If he didn't score pretty soon he'd be back to square one ... Even so, he had no intention of giving that dickhead his gun back.

  "Fuck you," snarled Kenny, lunging forward; grabbing Rossini’s leg, he sank his teeth into it. Rossini howled. “Let go of my sister, or I'll chew your leg off,” Kenny threatened.

  Rossini was quick to comply. Diane kept the gun pointed at the Green Knight while Kenny got his feet, licking blood off his teeth and said, "Time for you to go now ... It's been a fucking blast."

  First standing straight and then crouching to feel the wound just above his ankle, Rossini said, "You've fucking infected me, you crazy bastard."

  "That’s right, asshole. Maybe you can write that into your show?" Then as Rossini shuffled away toward the end of the alley Kenny yelled after him, “At least you got the drugs to keep you alive ... you lucky dog!” knowing there was no silver lining to being bitten by a dead man.

  Diane grabbed his hand. "Come on," she said. "I know where to get you some more stuff."

  "You said he was the only one who had any."

  She smiled at him. "That was before we had a gun!"

  Chapter Two

  That annoying mouse, scampering around the wall of his mind, seriously wound him up. Tony Johnston wished that he could push his arm through his ear, wrap his hand around its body and squeeze until its jellied insides pushed out from between his fingers.