Abominations

by P. S. Power

  He sure as heck wanted to be more like them than Holsom. Except the getting laid all the time part. That he could deal with. That would be a really nice change in fact. Of course he hadn't gotten any before the man had come either, so just getting rid of him probably wouldn't fix that. On the good side it wouldn't make things worse that way either. Not even if all the women hated him for doing it.

  Dinner was good, fresh potatoes slow baked, and as he'd figured a deer meat stew. That had potatoes too. The servings weren't huge, but they were real enough, a full bowl of stew and two decent sized potatoes each and a slice of oat bread. During the end of the last winter they'd gotten by on less than that per day. The ones that survived at least. Of course that had mainly been scavenged food. This year it would all be about planning and farming. Everyone was doing it, all the other groups had some kind of farm going, except the police in their closed encampment. Morons.

  They probably thought that they'd just let the little people do the work then come and raid them. It would probably have worked before, but now everyone would fight to the death if they came. That made a much bigger difference than the likes of the cops were ready for, Jake bet. Back before they'd always had greater numbers to fall back on, or the people they faced were simply unarmed. If that didn't work, they could call in back-up and often did even if it hadn't been needed.

  The rules had changed.

  No one said much while they ate, just focusing on the food they had, enjoying it. The room was dark, except for a single candle. Everything was now at night, not that it was really that late, still dusk out. Even the candles were a luxury. The zombies didn't go toward the light or anything, but they'd need them for the winter, when it got dark at five each night. People could only sleep so much and they didn't functionally have entertainment.

  When the meal ended Holsom and his crew all glared at Jake, a few spending time looking hard at Nate too. Jake got it. They felt like he and Nate had shown them up or some macho bullshit like that. They had of course, but not in the way the men imagined.

  It wasn't some ego trip, or even that Jake was a better fighter than they were, which they should have gotten already. It just came down to the fact that they weren't nearly as important to everyone as they thought they should be and he'd pointed that out. Really, the only power they had as a group were their guns. Jake wondered if they should have them at all. The only other people that did were the cleaners.

  Ah. That was actually a good point. One he could use. If they wanted to be armed, they should earn the right. No one would argue that, would they?

  “So, Holsom,” Jake said firmly, but in a whisper, making it sound a little menacing.

  “I'm setting up a firewood collection detail that's going to run from now until we can't get any more wood for the winter. I'd like you and your friends to come along, we need all the able bodied people we can get that aren't afraid of the zombies. Since you all carry weapons all the time, I assume that means a few dead people won't bother any of you overly? Really, we probably won't have any problems that way, but it's important regardless.” Jake smiled. It wasn't a nice thing.

  “Fuck that. I'm not a lumberjack.” The man said, surly and as stupid as always.

  Like anyone would confuse him with someone that cut down trees for a living? Or worked? Jake had some negative thoughts about the Westwood police force in general, but he really couldn't fault them for not taking Holsom along with them.

  His buddies chimed in, all fingering weapons, but not drawing them. Jake got ready to kill them all, wondering if he'd survive it. Probably not, there were five of them and one of him. They didn't have to be good, just put out enough bullets.

  Oh well. Jake faced death several times a week, it would find him sometime, today might be the day. People shifted in the room but no one yelled or said anything.

  Quietly from the corner Nate cleared his throat, a soft and calm sound, “None of us are Derrick, but the simple fact is that without wood we won't make it through this next winter. Half the people that died so far did so from the cold six months ago and that was in the spring nearly.”

  Holsom laughed and thumbed the clip on his holster open, a menacing move that meant the man didn't get the situation at all. Tipper stood behind him with her shotgun pointed right at his head, tilted upward politely so that his brain would decorate the ceiling rather than take a chance of hitting someone on the floor. She always had perfect control of her weapon. And a cute butt. Jake tried not to think about that though, not just then.

  Chuckling lightly, standing almost invisibly behind one of Holsom's large friends, a man known only as Stan, Dave spoke. His voice was menacing, as if hoping they could kill all the lazy freeloaders right then and there. It was creepy really, half little kid, the rest grown up killer. Raspy and rough.

  “Look around cocksmokers.”

  Jake glanced himself, hoping that didn't mean he was a secret cocksmoker, and saw that each of the men had at least two weapons pointed at them. The other cleaners had apparently decided that they'd had enough too.

  Yay.

  It was about freaking time.

  “Let's do this civilly gentlemen, by you putting your weapons, all of them, on the ground, please.” Nate said.

  It took time for them to get the idea that their options were limited. One of them tried to draw and shoot Jake, and got shot three times for his trouble. Jake's hit just below the throat, a miss if the man had been a zombie. Lethal on a human. Vickie, the head of the other good cleaning team, removed the top of his head with her sawed off shotgun and much to Jake's surprise Nate both had a pistol out and had used it. A shot to the chest, off centered, but it hit. Since the man was a pacifist by nature and upbringing, that was a huge shock to everyone. The barrel didn't smoke visibly in the candle light, but just having fired it had an impact on the room.

  Everyone but Jake and a few of the cleaners looked like statues. Nate shook his head slowly.

  “No. We can't have people here plotting against us Derrick. You and your friends have been trying to take us down for too long. I'd hoped that you'd all see the error of your ways and learn to help out, but...” He didn't finish, because of the three women that ran into the room, throwing themselves in front of the man. Brave of them, but foolish.

  “No! You can't kill him... I love him.” Deborah said, her forty year old mouth saying what her equally old brain should have realized was a stupid thing to say given everything.

  Erin said something similar, but she could be forgiven, Jake guessed. Still a bit overweight and pug nosed, along with not being overly bright and maybe seventeen. She'd probably felt lucky that Holsom had bothered to pay attention to her at all. She was probably right. As she spoke Sara, an older woman, the third in their little triumvirate of the yaya sisterhood or whatever, started screaming at Nate. Jake trained his handgun on her and spoke softly.

  “Quietly. Please.”

  She didn't seem to hear him. Jake sighed and shot her in the head. This time it wasn't a miss. He did manage to angle the shot at least, so no one else got hit. The room went silent as she fell. Everyone knew better than to scream now. That just got you killed. Jake half expected Molly to raise a fuss, just to make him kill her. She didn't though. She just stood back, her little twenty-two pointed at one of Holsom's buddies. The bearded one. Jake always thought of him as “Smelly” but that probably wouldn't turn out to be what his parents had named him. That was just the name he'd earned.

  Washing paid off.

  Turning back to Derrick as if nothing had happened, Jake grunted.

  “Weapons please. All of them. If you don't comply we kill you all in... Thirteen seconds. Starting... now.” No one moved. It would be the thirteen second thing, throwing them all off. It was why he'd said it after all, to try and get Holsom to hesitate long enough.

  “Ten.” He said, beginning to pull the trigger, nine millimeter pointed at Derrick's head. If he got to seven the man would die. Element of surprise and all that.r />
  “Eight.” He said two seconds later.

  Just as he was about to start killing people, Holsom pulled his gun with two fingers and started removing the other weapons he had hidden. He only had three, if the large knife got included, an oversized bowie that would only be good for intimidating people, not taking out zombies, at least not more than one. People had tried that in the beginning, using swords and machetes to take on the undead, because it had worked in video games or, as some had said, “swords don't run out of bullets” which was a good point on paper. It turned out to be a lot harder to behead a person than it seemed. Most of them were dead or had at least moved to firearms. Mainly the first one.

  Dave collected up the weapons quickly, without being asked and removed those to the side. Two bodies were on the floor and six people stood in the middle of the room that they just couldn't trust anymore. At least Jake couldn't trust them. Derrick started talking then, his voice low and urgent.

  “Whoa, this is getting way out of hand here. I just meant that, you understand, I think my time would be better spent leading instead of doing grunt work. We have people for that here, plenty of them. I...”

  Jake nearly capped the man right there, but Nate shook his head.

  “No, we all have to pull our weight now. If we don't we die. I'm going to go get wood in the morning and so is everyone else not on guard duty that can be spared. No one is too important for this.”

  Jake nearly shut his eyes. They were not going to let Holsom stay, were they? That would be so... suicidal. Thankfully Tipper mentioned it, which got a nod from Nate.

  “Agreed, these men haven't been holding up their end yet at all. More they looked to be about ready for violence when called on it. If they stay they can't be armed again. That's about the only thing that's been keeping me from mentioning their behavior so far. We can't have that. We'll put it to a vote, majority rules. Do they stay or not?”

  What the fuck was the point of having a leader, if Nate was just going to do crap like this, Jake wondered. No sane person would want people like this to stay would they?

  “Um, I think they should be allowed to stay.” One of the remaining female traitors said softly, looking at Jake as she did. Deborah, the older one.

  Proving Jake's point. No one who wasn't crazy...

  The debate started then.

  Quietly.

  After ten minutes Jake put his weapon away and started dragging the bodies out. He'd made a mess and dried blood stained. Then he washed up and followed Ken and Sammi into the kitchen to help with the dishes. They were already working, the light wouldn't wait after all. Those would be needed in the morning after all and people died all the time, it wasn't a good reason to skip out on the task.

  Just before they were done getting the dishes all onto the wooden drying racks, they used six of them, large things that Burt had made early on, another shot came from the living room. Jake motioned them to the floor as he turned to run in, crouched low. Trying not to get shot, he poked his nine millimeter, a dull black, held in his left hand, into the room and peeked in, only his brown left eye around the frame. He knelt close to the ground. One of Holsom's crew, Smelly, laid on the floor, wet glistening in the dull light from where the top of his head had been. He had a gun in his hand, and it seemed that Dave had taken exception to it. Good. Now he wouldn't ever have to bother learning the man's real name.

  That should have illustrated the point well enough, but most of the people wanted to give them another chance anyway. Throwing someone out into the night was... Harsh, and no one wanted it to happen to them later, so they argued against it as a precedence. In the end the three remaining men were allowed to stay. Jake would have fumed, but didn't bother. He'd probably still have to kill them all. The vote had been... instructive though. Not because of who voted for letting them stay, that was nearly everyone. No, it was the dozen people that had voted against it that caught his attention.

  Nearly half the cleaners did, right off the top. No hesitation even. Tipper and Dave led the way, and both the other team leaders, Vickie and Carl. Vickie's screamer, a fifteen year old boy named George did too and the old guy from Carl's team, Barry. At least thought that might be his name. The man was ancient, pushing fifty at least maybe older. He was good though. The rest voted with everyone else.

  The others that could see the problem for what it was made less sense.

  Lois, the older kitchen lady and Burt voted against letting the men stay. So did Carley, but since she hated all men, that kind of made sense. The other two... Sammi and Ken. They went last too, even knowing that the vote would be going against them and that doing it would make enemies. It was clear they were making a point. Jake got it at least. Sammi spoke for them both.

  “They're dangerous and lazy. If we let them stay it's going to come back and bite us later. We should take them out back and shoot them right now. If we don't, we're going to regret it. I'll do it myself if someone will lend me a firearm?” It was too dark to make out her facial expression and she whispered, but the tone didn't sound teasing.

  Jake didn't speak his mind, but that about summed it up. Maybe he could sneak the girl a shotgun later? No one would blame a little kid for executing the men, right?

  He, personally, would sleep easier if they were dead. It felt nice to know that at least a few other people could see that too. It worried him that more didn't.

  It worried him a lot.

  As an extra bonus, please enjoy this sample from popular

  “Keeley Thomson: Demon Girl”

  Also by P.S. Power and available for download today!

  Chapter one

  Keeley didn't really care today.

  Normally she did well enough on that score, being sympathetic to the plight of others, trying to get good grades and all that stuff. The things that a normal girl should be concerned about. At the moment though, she just couldn't.

  Not about school. Not about some stupid dance that she wouldn't be going to anyway, and certainly not about some moronic football game that had no impact on either her life or the world at large.

  Nope.

  About those things she didn't give a single thought, other than to dismiss them.

  It was probably hard to tell from the outside, given what she was doing at the moment, which could easily be taken as a sign of peppy interest or possibly a lame attempt at social climbing. Like she'd bother with that? Moving up the popularity ladder of a high school didn't make a lot of sense, she'd be leaving in a few years anyway. It was actually kind of funny, but Keeley Thomson held her face straight and didn't think about it.

  It was work time.

  Fun – possibly psychotic – work.

  The dance in question was being advertised on a rather nice poster that looked very professional, if she did say so herself. The white was glossy and the letters in the center were made up out of very tiny, slightly irregularly shaped boxes that were blue and orange, as was the football helmet in the center of the piece, surrounded by very sharp looking black print describing how incredible the event would be. The school's colors, as well as a high contrast image that played tricks with the eye, the pattern making the whole thing seem to shift and shimmer a little if you looked for more than a second. That was what she cared about.

  The way it looked, not the advertisement itself. More to the point, the way that people would be drawn to it, stopping to read the new message. Staring, trying to force their mind to understand what they were seeing.

  At least if she'd done it right.

  The game was before the dance, Homecoming, which for some reason was held a full month and a half after the start of the school year at Raintree high. The name of the event always made her wonder who was supposed to be coming home? Obviously someone that wasn't planning to graduate, not coming in that late.

  Keeley brushed her long brown hair out of her face, straight and bland, mainly held back with a plain brown scrunchy that her mom had gotten her a fifty pack of the Christmas b
efore. A few wisps carelessly flying around this late in the day, knocked out of place by her glasses earlier when she'd taken them off to clean them. She wore one daily and generally got a week's worth of use out of each before something happened. She'd lose them, or use one to hold something together, mark a book page or as part of an explosives package.

  It didn't matter. No one noticed overly, because no one really saw her most of the time. In fact, she knew, if she didn't move her little size six jeans back to the far wall in about five seconds she was going to end up in the mess.

  That being what she was there for today.

  The mess that was about to start in the school's main hallway in three... two... one...

  The bell rang, loud and strong, followed by the clatter of hundreds of chairs in classrooms and then even more pairs of feet padding rapidly on the highly polished yellow and blue tile that was supposed to somehow engender “school spirit” in the masses forced to walk the hallways each day, rather than headaches from eye strain. The yellow was supposed to be orange, but no one made bright orange tile in the right color for some reason.