Emily Uncensored Book 1: The Neighbors

by Fiona Lexus

  “And being my neighbor wasn’t enough? You had to bring my family into it as well?” I say, trying to make him feel as badly as I can.

  “I would have gone to any extreme I could to have this result, Emily. This is what I want.” There is a pause after he speaks and he leans in and takes my hand. “But the beauty in this whole thing, is that we get to decide what happens next. Life is just a game Emily. So roll the dice.” He squeezes my hand and looks pretty pleased with himself.

  I guess he is probably right. Life is just a fucking game. And why else are we here than to experience it with a passion? I just hope Jonathan knows what he is in for.

  Author’s Notes

  Thank you for taking the time to read my first novel in this series: Emily Uncensored.

  After reading Emily Uncensored Book 1: The Neighbors,

  GO GET THE SECOND BOOK!

  If you want the second book in the series:

  Emily Uncensored Book 2: Long Island, click here:

  My mailing list!

  Want more?

  Join my mailing list here: fiona@fionalexus.com

  Check out my website www.fionalexus.com for more info about me, my work and whats to come, as well as my blog.

  Here’s my Facebook

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  Also by Fiona Lexus

  1) Emily Uncensored Book 2: Long Island

  2) Coming out Spring 2017: Emily Uncensored Book 3

  3) March 2017: Alter-Ego, A Collection of Short Stories and Poems

  4) Due out late 2017: Domina Petra Series (Sci-Fi Romantic Comedy)

  Sign up for my mailing list on my website and I will keep you up to date on all of my launches!

  Check out this other indie author!

  At the end of every book I will have authors notes, maybe some reviews, and most definitely a sneak peak into some other books, either by myself or my favorite authors.

  Here is a couple chapters of a funny short novel by a new Indie Artist Pieter Lars called Everyday Apocalypse. Read, enjoy and hopefully you can go out and buy his books. www.pieterlars.com

  Independent author’s need support in anyway possible.

  Everyday Apocalypse: Season One

  Episode 1

  Slow Zombies

  Tom Brown woke to the sound of the ocean. He rolled over and hit the alarm clock and the soothing waves stopped, filling his room with silence.

  Well, except for the snarling and clawing outside the window.

  Monday morning was met with a groan, a yawn, and a stretch. Then a quick shower, coffee, and eggs. Toast burned black because he was distracted by the paper. The National Eschatological Agency (NEA) forecast showed ZOMBIES in all caps. After all, it was the new year. They were slow zombies because the weather had been unseasonably cold, which was a relief, but there was a slight chance of rage-induced speed throughout the week.

  Tom sighed, ran some water over his dishes, and finished getting dressed.

  The NEA package was on his stoop and he opened it there, ignoring the bared teeth and the clawed hands reaching through the gate of his condo complex. The NEA had sent him chain-mesh gauntlets, along with the usual carbon steel machete. He still had the one from last year, but it was buried somewhere in his garage under boxes of Christmas decorations.

  He slipped the gauntlets on, picked the thickest wool coat he had, and climbed in his Subaru, setting the machete on the passenger seat. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it today. Mr. Phillips hated when his sales team came to the office blood-spattered.

  His commute was easy, with only a few lanes closed as the NEA Wailer trucks cleared the streets. He pulled to the shoulder as one of the armored trucks passed, siren warbling and screaming as it crawled by on its tracks, followed by the shambling, slavering horde of undead.

  He reached the office ten minutes before 9:00am, parked, and worked his way through the fenced-off walkway and into the building. Samantha was at the front desk, wearing a sleeveless blouse and a silk scarf. He smiled at her as he took off his coat and gauntlets. She smiled back, tapping her headset with an apologetic look.

  His voicemail light was on, but he ignored it while his computer booted up. Twelve emails over the weekend, nine of which were from his boss, Mr. Phillips. He scrolled through them, half-reading, half-rolling his eyes at the motivational images of rock climbers, the fluffy cats saying cute things about perseverance.

  Finally he came to one with the subject line: SALES QUOTAS.

  Sales TEAM,

  I know this week presents some challenges, but don’t let the wandering dead distract you from what’s truly important: OUR CLIENTS.

  Not only our clients, but our PROSPECTIVE clients. After all, how will we grow as a company and as individuals without fresh, new business? Your goal as a sales agent with Genesis Insurance Solutions is to build our business. Our bottom line is YOUR bottom line. Take some ownership of the company you work for. Its success is YOUR success.

  I have sent separate emails to each of you with this week’s quotas. If I have higher expectations for some of you, it is only because I believe in your abilities. We are a TEAM. Keep this in mind. Help each other. Learn from each other.

  As always, I am here to help and be a resource. As you know, I have over 30 years of sales experience. I am HAPPY to share that experience with you. Do NOT think of me as your boss. Think of me as a RESOURCE.

  Good luck this week (not that you need it) and remember, SELL SELL SELL.

  Your boss (leader),

  Chris Phillips

  P.S. The parking lot fences need maintenance so please be careful on your way to your cars in the evenings. If someone would be kind enough to stay and escort Samantha and some of the other women at night, I would be appreciate it.

  He sighed for the eighth time that morning and hit the DELETE button, wondering what Samantha would think of Phillips’ postscript. Last year it was her clearing the parking lot for Phillips, if Tom remembered correctly. She was an absolute ninja with the machete.

  The phones started ringing and he pulled his headset over his ears, finger poised over the answer button. Outside, desiccated fingers clawed at his window.

  At least the glass was sound-proof. It was going to be a long day…

  Episode 2

  Sand Worms

  Tom had taken Monday off as a personal day, telling Mr. Phillips that he had the stomach flu, but in reality he’d stayed in bed watching Antique Roadshow. He told himself he needed the extra day to rest and get some work done around the house, but if he was honest, it was because he was scared to death of going outside.

  Sand Worms were, to Tom, by far the most terrifying of the many, many apocalypses so far.

  When he was a kid his parents had taken him to the beach and he had spent the day running up and down the shore, chasing waves and seagulls. He was digging in the wet sand, scooping out a mound for a sandcastle when his little fingers gripped something soft and slimy. He pulled it up and opened his fist to see a long, red pulsating worm. He held it for a second, frozen in surprise and revulsion. And then it twitched and wriggled, pushing its head into the skin of his palm and he just knew that if he didn’t drop it right that instant it would burrow right into his hand. The rest of the beach day was screaming and sobbing.

  Later he would learn that it was a harmless lugworm, but all he could think about was the blood-red skin of it, the little bristles along its body, and the frantic way it had tried to eat him.

  He had not been to the beach since.

  It wasn’t a rational fear. He knew this. There were worse apocalypses. The Hellspawn last April were far scarier, objectively speaking. But they didn’t lurk and slither and slide underfoot, only to pop up when you least expected. They were very forthright in their terror, running wildly toward you with their flaming eyes and forked tongues and oily black scales.

  Of course, the “Sand Worms” out there this week weren’t technically sand worms, in that they weren’t limited to only slithering and c
rawling through sand. Basically any dirt would do and, living in Arizona meant that almost every inch of undeveloped land around Tom was fair game for the nasty monsters.

  So, he really didn’t want to go outside and he especially didn’t want to drive to work. His condo had a nice, thick concrete foundation.

  He was finishing his breakfast, formulating a plan on how to take the rest of the week off, when the phone rang.

  “Hello?” he answered, wedging the phone against his shoulder so he could flip his eggs.

  “Hi, Tom? This is Samantha. From work.”

  Like he didn’t instantly recognize her voice. “Hi Samantha. How are you?” He got a little spring of hope that maybe the office was closed for the day. Then another spring of hope that she was calling him for a different reason.

  “I’m alright. Rough morning. Sorry to bother you, but my car isn’t starting and I was wondering if you might be able to pick me up. I think I’m on your way, right?”

  He paused. Forgetting about his eggs.

  “I can do that. Just text me your address.”

  He was out the door five minutes later.

  #

  Samantha lived in a small apartment complex for young professionals. Tom noted its nice, thick, concrete foundation. The drive to her place was short and he hadn’t seen any sign of the Worms yet, but he figured they were just biding their time, waiting for him to get out in the open. Then they would slither up his legs and start burrowing into his knees or something.

  Samantha ran towards his car, carrying a large box which she struggled into the backseat before getting in the car herself. She was wearing a checkered skirt and grey leggings that tucked into big black leather boots. Dressed half for battle, half for business. Sort of the epitome of her character as far as Tom could tell.

  “Take Grove,” Samantha said. “The freeway’s closed. Guess one of the worms chomped a big bite out of an overpass.”

  “Seriously? How big are they?” Tom asked.

  Samantha looked over at him. “What, you didn’t see the NEA package?”

  He had, but he hadn’t opened it. Too busy convincing himself he wasn’t going outside that week.

  “I didn’t get a chance to go through it. Anything I should know?”

  Samantha rolled her eyes. “You guys are so helpless…” She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached into the backseat, rummaging through the box. When she turned back she was holding a stack of metallic discs, about the size of frisbees. Each had a big red button in the center and were labeled “HERBERT, MARK IV”.

  “The Herberts are really supposed to be the last line of defense, but I sort of like using them, so I only have about six left.”

  “What do they do?” Tom asked.

  “You’ll see,” Samantha replied with a grin.

  He sort of hoped he wouldn’t, actually.

  “So this year there’s three types of worms,” Samantha said. “The Wrigglers are the smallest. They’ve got thick black and white stripes and sort of grin at you. All you need to do to get them off your back is give ‘em a good whack on the snout.”

  “With what?”

  Samantha shrugged. “A baseball bat or something.”

  “I didn’t bring one.”

  Samantha reached into the backseat again and produced a long black flashlight. The sort they issue to patrol officers; more club than tool.

  “So, if the Wrigglers are the smallest, what else is there?” He was trying to picture the sort of worm that could do enough damage to close a freeway.

  “Let’s see,” Samantha replied. She was rolling down her window and looking out for some reason. “There’s the Grabbers,” she called over her shoulder. “They’re a bit bigger, and just plain brown. The pamphlet said something about even bigger ones than that though. The name for them was something I couldn’t pronounce, but I Googled it. I think it translated to ‘God Worm’ or something. I forget. I really want to see one, though.”

  Tom had a lump in his throat. God Worms? Why couldn’t it just be Radioactive Spider week?

  “Samantha, do you mind rolling up your window?” he said, but then his car shuddered and there was a screech to his right.

  He looked over to see what he could only assume was a Wriggler. It was leaping up into the air beside his car, disappearing back into the earth, only to reappear again, closer. Its eyes were slits and its mouth opened in a ghastly cartoonish grin, showing a pink tongue and rows of inch-long teeth. He slammed on the accelerator and swerved into the next lane. Samantha let out a curse. “I almost had that one!”

  “Samantha, please roll up your wind—“ he started to say, but then the road ahead erupted in a frenzy of the black and white striped creatures. They were throwing dirt and chunks of asphalt in every direction.

  He shifted into four-wheel-drive and concentrated on navigating all the new potholes. To his right, Samantha was leaning out the window, swinging her Maglite like Barry Bonds on methamphetamines. Each time a Wriggler leaped close enough, she would clock it in the head and it would hiss and disappear back into the earth.

  The next few miles were a blur. He was sweating through his shirt and it wasn’t even 9:00am. All he could hear were the clanks from his car’s undercarriage and Samantha’s wild giggles. He wondered idly, way back behind the terror, if his car insurance covered suspension repair.

  They were five miles from the office when things got really bad. The Wrigglers had mostly disappeared, but then a string of street-lights fell over, one after another. A bus stop bench disappeared, swallowed in one terrible instant by a truck-sized sinkhole.

  “Ooh!” Samantha said. “Time for the Herberts!” She dropped the Maglite into the footwell and reached back, producing the stack of metal discs. “This is going to be fun.”

  He swallowed, thankful he hadn’t finished his breakfast, and focused on the road ahead.

  Samantha pushed the big red button on the first Herbert and tossed it out the window. It activated in the air and starting pulsing with loud clapping thumps that he could feel in his ribs. He watched in the rearview mirror as one of the Grabbers, drawn to the sound, twisted in the air to catch it. The creature’s maw opened like a hideous, serrated orchid as it snatched the Herbert out of the air then dove through the asphalt and deep underground.

  A moment later there was a whump and a cloud of dust and dirt rose in the air, speckled with gibbets of worm-flesh.

  Samantha cackled. “I love these things! This has been the best apocalypse by far!”

  Tom swallowed and kept driving, trying to keep his speed down in case he hit some loose dirt or a newly-formed ditch. The last thing he wanted was to be stalled and stranded. The office was less than a mile away.

  “I’m telling you, Tom. If you don’t use your Herberts, I’ll take them.”

  “Are you going to need a ride tomorrow, you think?” He asked, not sure what answer he wanted.

  Before Samantha could answer there was a low rumble to their left. The ground shook (more than it had been already) and a handful of car alarms went off.

  There was a hilly dog park a block over. As Tom watched, the dirt of the hill shifted and rolled and pitched as huge swaths of earth were displaced. A little white poodle yipped and snarled as something carved a twenty-foot wide channel through the park. The worm digging it had to be at least ten times bigger than any of the Grabbers.

  The God Worm had arrived, and it was headed straight for Tom’s car.

  He slammed on the accelerator and the Subaru’s engine groaned. Samantha stopped throwing the Herberts, and instead watched the Worm’s path as it dug through the park.

  The park’s gate collapsed with an iron clang and the Worm breached the sidewalk, then the oncoming lane, toppling a garbage truck that swerved to avoid the monster.

  Tom’s Subaru rocked from the air displacement, but they were out of the worm’s path. The rearview mirror filled with the sight of the enormous creature as it rose in the air, segment after corrugated segment.
>
  It kept rising.

  Tom counted ten segments. Twenty. Thirty. As the distance between their car and the Worm grew, he gained a better sense of scale. The Worm had to be the length of a football field, maybe more. It reached the apex of its rise and stood suspended, wavering in the air like a giant, horrifying pool noodle. It opened its maw to reveal row after row of fangs lining its mouth and the depths of its throat.

  It roared with a sound like a phlegmy jet engine, its teeth wriggling and clicking against each other. Then its body twisted and it dove. It crashed straight through a four-story office building. Glass and plaster and copy machines flew in every direction.

  In four seconds the Worm had burrowed through the building and back into the earth, leaving nothing but the sound of Tom’s engine as he rounded a corner and screeched to a stop in the office parking lot.

  Tom shut off the car and he and Samantha both sat for a moment in silence.

  “Well, that wasn’t what I had been picturing,” Samantha said. Her voice had lost some of its giddiness. “Wasn’t that the Trustfree Bank building?” Samantha asked.

  “I think so.” He tried to keep his own voice from cracking as his hands twitched on the steering wheel.

  “Don’t they have their policy with us?”

  “Yes,” Tom replied.

  Samantha groaned. “Mr. Phillips is going to be in a really bad mood.”

  They went inside and hung up their coats. Samantha slipped behind her desk and started checking the voicemail. Mr. Phillips was down the hall, screaming in his office.

  Tom took quick, quiet steps into his own office and shut the door. He heard Phillips’s door open and heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

  Tom had just enough time to slip his headset over his head before Phillips burst in, his face red and blotchy, his chest heaving.