by Buda, Chuck
The room’s silence was only broken by the dripping of blood from Melvin’s neck along the concrete floor. The lonely drops collected in a pool which spread in an ever-growing puddle around Melvin’s body.
Chapter 20
The halls were full of bravado and excitement. The mood among the guards had become more sinister. Ever since Warden Gorgon introduced the cage fights, the prison guards developed an edge. Like a blade sharpened and poised above an extended neck upon the gallows, the men teetered along a fine line of order and mayhem.
Muncie loosened his collar to allow his sore neck to breathe. He fumed over being touched by the zombie creature. It could have killed him, he thought. And he wondered how much of the Warden had been behind the errant attack.
That smirk on his fucking face. I know that prick had something to do with it.
Muncie pulled Crawford aside. Crawford was still Muncie’s best soldier. He needed to ensure the man had his back. The battle against Gorgon would require more strength in numbers than Muncie had originally anticipated.
“Are you okay?”
Muncie sized up Crawford. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Crawford glanced down at his bicep which was still clutched in Muncie’s grip. “Well, you’re crushing the shit out of my arm.”
Muncie hadn’t realized what he had done. He released his hold on Crawford’s arm. “Sorry. Just pissed off by that fucking animal inside.” He nodded over his shoulder to indicate the cage.
Crawford rubbed his arm. “Yeah, I can’t believe that thing got a hold of you. Glad you shook it off.”
Muncie stroked the scratch marks around his throat. He knew the creature had released him more than he had fought it off. But as far as Crawford or any of his men needed to know, Muncie had escaped the zombie of his own volition.
Rivera joined Muncie and Crawford. He patted Crawford’s shoulder and saluted to Muncie. “Sir. That was an epic battle, huh? Bet you wish you could get in the ring and take care of business with one of those things, huh?”
Muncie glared at Rivera as he spoke.
“Those monsters wouldn’t stand a chance against our commander. He’d kill a whole room full of them before they knew they were dead.” Crawford grinned at his joke.
“They’re already dead.” Muncie shifted his glare to Crawford.
“I know. It was a joke.” Crawford looked between Muncie and Rivera. “Get it?”
Rivera laughed a bit too hard and a moment too late. It irritated Muncie because the man was clearly kissing up to his superiors. Muncie glanced around to ensure they could talk without being overheard.
“Listen. I need you both to do me a favor.” He paused to check the hall again. “I think there’s some shit going down here. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. See if anyone is acting suspiciously or out of character.”
Rivera took a deep breath. “What kind of shit? Like someone’s stealing food or supplies?”
Crawford placed a hand on Rivera’s chest. He directed his attention to Muncie. “What’s going on, boss? You can count on us.”
Muncie decided to keep his cards close to his chest. It was bad enough he had to enlist others to assist him against the Warden. The last thing he wanted to do was spill too much info before its proper time. For all he knew, even his best guards could be corrupted in the situation they were mired in.
“I don’t know. Gut feeling. Something is off.” He chose to leave it at that. The less they knew, the more attention they would pay to their surroundings to try to figure it out. Muncie knew people were curious and gossipy by nature. Crawford and Rivera would want to get to the bottom of it quicker so they wouldn’t be in the dark.
Crawford nodded. “You got it. We’ll keep an ear to the ground for anything out of the ordinary.” Rivera confirmed his allegiance.
“Not a word. To anyone. It’s just the three of us. You understand? If anyone else picks up on our suspicions or knows what we are thinking, and the whole things blows the fuck up in our faces.” Muncie stroked his baton. “I don’t want to mistrust my best men. So don’t fuck this up.”
As soon as Muncie finished his threat, Jonas passed the trio. Muncie almost jumped out of his skin. The surprise of an eavesdropper aggravated him. He immediately grabbed Jonas by the shoulder.
“Where they fuck did you come from?”
Jonas’ face lost color. He held up his hands. “I...uh, just finished cleaning up for the Warden.”
Muncie sniffed Jonas. He shoved the end of his baton into Jonas’ chest. “You listening in on conversations you ain’t privy to?”
“No. No. I’m just heading back to my post.” Jonas glanced nervously at Crawford and Rivera. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
Muncie shoved Jonas away with the baton. He glowered at Jonas as the man backpedaled away. As soon as he felt he was clear of danger, Jonas turned and hurried down the hall. Muncie kept a vigilant eye on his progress.
“Forgive me, boss, but won’t acting like that draw attention?” Crawford’s tone sounded apologetic.
Muncie redirected his aggression at Crawford and Rivera. “Find out what’s going on around here. And report back to me. Whoever does a better job will become my second in command.”
“But...I AM...your second in command.” Crawford looked confused.
“Maybe not for long.” He grinned then waved his baton to shoo the guards away. Rivera and Crawford picked up on his wishes to dismiss them. They spun and made their way back to the pods.
Muncie rubbed his neck again. He hoped his pet project of enlisting the two guards would be enough to earn his loyalty should Warden Gorgon attempt to turn his men against him. Muncie figured he should make them an offer before a tastier treat came their way.
Now he had to see about freeing one of the creatures for his own use. He wondered how quickly he could turn the Warden’s combatants against him. Muncie knew the best place to get his hands on a zombie. And that would be his next destination.
Muncie laughed to himself. He walked the hallway alone. His shoes echoed off the cold, hard surfaces. Muncie’s mind turned over several ideas for taking charge of the prison and controlling his fate instead of leaving it in the hands of someone he could no longer trust.
He whispered to the walls. “I’m one enemy you don’t want, fucker.”
Chapter 21
Sullivan dropped to the earth. The explosion shook the ground beneath his feet. He wanted to shrink his profile in case someone had a bead on his location.
He belly-crawled through the dust toward a tipped over dumpster. Sullivan made a quick check to ensure his safety. Nobody hunkered behind the dumpster. So he crawled behind it. Two smells smacked him in the face.
Cheese. And death.
Sullivan slid inside the dumpster, taking a relaxing breath. He found shelter for a brief rest. He knew he couldn’t stay long. The zombies would smell him. And inside the dumpster, he would be trapped.
Half-eaten slices of pizza were crumpled up between some greasy paper plates. He shooed some flies away and sniffed the pizza. It smelled delicious, stirring the acids in his stomach. Sullivan took a bite and rolled it around in his mouth before chewing. He wanted to make sure it hadn’t turned yet.
The flavor was out of this world. The slice couldn’t have been more than a day old. He chewed voraciously, thinking about leftover pizza from the night before as a student. Those had been the days. No worries except for chicks and school work.
Unlike now.
Sullivan swallowed a big chunk of pizza without chewing. It was as if his stomach willed the nourishment, trying to bypass the enjoyment of the flavor or the benefit of his saliva breaking the food down for digestion.
The noxious smell almost brought the pizza back up. He suddenly realized he had been eating amid a decaying stench. Sullivan rustled some garbage aside, following the terrible odor.
He found it.
A headless infant swaddled in a hand-knit a
fghan.
Sullivan spewed the sparse contents of his stomach. It splashed along the dirty walls of the dumpster. He forced himself to shuffle backwards as he retched. The fresh breeze eased his turbulent belly. But it didn’t last. He vomited again, strained on all fours. Images of the main character in the movie of American Werewolf in London ran through his brain. He pictured David Naughton turning into the beast on all fours. Sullivan wanted to chuckle but he was too busy throwing up.
As he wiped the mucus from the side of his lips, Sullivan sensed the dead calm atmosphere around him. The sound of chirping birds and flying insects had disappeared. Total silence enveloped him until the sound of scuffed feet snapped him to action.
Stepping around the dumpster was a rotted corpse with a missing jaw. Its bloody tongue dangled like a limp fish. The milky eyes smiled at its next meal. But Sullivan would have none of it. He brought the butt end of his rifle up to smash in the creature’s skull. Sullivan wanted to save ammo and he refused to signal his location with loud shots, unless he absolutely had to defend himself.
The zombie lurched forward, walking directly into the butt end strike. The skull opened up like a torn beehive. The zombie’s body toppled to the ground. But several more undead filled the space left void of activity.
Sullivan spun to run away. Before he could reach the other end of the dumpster, another crowd of stinking flesh came his way.
He was trapped.
Sullivan lowered his rifle to shoot. He knew the bullets might get him out of this jam, but he would run out quickly. And then what? His platoon was missing. His supplies were dwindling. And where was he supposed to find a fresh cache of weapons and ammo?
He hopped onto the side of the tipped dumpster. And what he saw loosened his bowels.
A sea of undead surrounded the dumpster. And more were creeping across the dusty lot. The horizon seemed to be filled with shambling bodies and croaking heads. All hell bent on eating his body. One strip of meat at a time.
A whistle drew Sullivan’s attention. His head snapped back to see a man on the roof of the shops. His bald head reddened from the blazing sun while his remains of horeshoe-shaped hair flew wildly in the breeze.
“Up here.”
The man motioned for Sullivan to jump up to the first story roof. But he didn’t see a way to climb up. The side of the building was just out of reach and as smooth as Pamela Anderson’s ass cheeks.
Finally, the man lowered himself down from the roof, arms outstretched to help Sullivan climb up. He strapped the rifle over his shoulder and leapt across the short chasm. Sullivan’s boots slid down the wall and he felt his weight go south. The man’s strong hands grasped his forearms. For a brief moment, Sullivan thought he would lose the tug of war. The man above pulling him up. The dead fingers below, searching for purchase on his boots and pants.
The zombies began to win the battle. Sullivan sank lower upon the wall. He felt the sharpened fingernails attempting to tear through his clothing and the skin beneath it. The man above grunted and cursed against the strain.
Sullivan kicked his legs back and forth. He felt a few hollowed heads buck from the heel of his boots. Just enough movement freed his legs from the undead below. He used all his strength to pull himself up, easing the weight on the man rescuing him. He shimmied his boots along the flat surface of the wall hoping to provide some much needed grip.
He reached high enough for the man above to grope down his back. Strong fingers tugged underneath Sullivan’s bulletproof vest, helping to lure the rest of his body up over the edge of the building.
Sullivan rolled over onto his back. He stared into the sun and laughed out loud. The adrenaline from nearly dying overwhelmed him.
“HAHA. Fuck you, man. Fuck you.” Sullivan felt horrible for cursing but the words shot of his mouth in relief. He laid there in place, allowing the sun to warm his skin. He tried to catch his breath. And his guardian angel had been doing the same alongside him.
Sullivan sat up to see his rescuer and thank him for saving his life. But his laughter died instantaneously.
The bald man who had risked his own life to save Sullivan’s, was not okay.
Sullivan slid to the man’s side. Both of his legs from the knees down were gone. Two bloody stumps, tied off with rope and an old leather belt stared back at him.
“What...what happened?”
The bald man chuckled. “Those fuckers got me.”
Sullivan thought about getting away from the man. He knew bites led to infection. The man must have read his thoughts because he spoke up.
“I’m fine. I would’ve gotten sick already if it were going to happen. Two days ago. Them fuckers got into my butcher shop downstairs. Bit me good. Almost got away but they’re quicker than you think.”
“So...how...?” Sullivan found himself speechless.
“Took care of it myself. Soon as I sent those fuckers back to hell...I cut my own legs off. Then I climbed up here through the maintenance closet.”
Sullivan blinked. He couldn’t imagine being stranded in this world without legs to run away with. And to think about cutting off his own limbs nearly brought him to tears.
Sullivan looked away before crying in front of his new friend. The groaning below became louder by the minute. More wobbly heads shuffled toward the building from the wooded lot behind it.
“Name’s Skolnik. Adam Skolnik. But you can call me Chuck.”
I Need Your Help!
I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I would greatly appreciate a short review on Amazon or your favorite book website. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a huge difference.
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Inside the Hole
This one was tough.
Why?
I’ll tell ya.
For the first time in my writing career, I hit a wall. Not a writer’s block wall. Oh, no. I never get writer’s block. Running out of words or ideas is not something I have to deal with. Ever.
I hit a cold, cement, drab wall. (See what I did there?) The writing became chunky, like swallowing broken glass. The flow was gone. I had reached a period of...depression? No, depression isn’t the right word either. It was as if I was floating in a pool of water. No sensations. Just floating.
Over the last year, my mentor and bestest writing buddy, Armand Rosamilia warned me I was cranking out too much material, too quickly. Balderdash! Poppycock, I say!
Maybe he was right.
My dry spell was more a running-out-of-gas than a writer’s block. I felt tired. I was drained. I had been able to crank out twelve books in about twelve months. And I had a few more in the works. No time off. No long weekends to veg. No extra cat-naps or sleeping in. Just work, work, work. I am built for work. My A.D.D. and other maladies could never allow me to sit idle for too long. But maybe I finally drove myself into the ground...
Then there was life. Yes, I am using the life-got-in-the-way card. Because it did. Some family illnesses and things which needed to be taken care of took priority. It happens. Sometimes life is more important than telling stories. Welllllllllllll...
The stories still nagged at me. I have so much to say and so many killer ideas to get out. But my energy had evaporated and I needed to be around for my family. I’ll be the first to admit I could never qualify for father of the year or son of the year or brother of the year. And I DEFINITELY can’t qualify for husband of the year. Seriously, what does that woman see in me?!?!
Anyway, excuses aside and on to the fleshy parts.
This series is funny to me. Not funny, ha-ha. Funny in the sense I set an overall outline for the ten-book series as well as outlines for each book so it would flow nicely and accomplish the plot lines to my satisfaction. That being said, I shift soooooooo much while I write each book. I end up where I want to go by the end, but within each book I snake all over the damned place. I uncover scenes previously unknown to me. I end up killing charact
ers before they were supposed to expire. Sometimes I kill characters who were supposed to last to the end.
Like Claudia.
I loved her character. She’s tough and smart and hot. I found her hot. But it was the right thing to do. Killing her when I did. It hurt me. And I’m sure it hurt you. For that, I am sorry. However, Claudia’s death provides a chance for other characters to step up. And it certainly raised the stakes of the plot.
Sorry, Melvin. I loved him too. The sage old man who had ended up in prison for some crime of passion. He never should have been in prison because he wasn’t a true criminal. He did break the law which is why he found himself in Warsaw. But he was a soft, gentle old guy. I liked his yin to Jack’s yang. Together, Jack and Melvin played off each other and were able to lead the men of C-Pod. Apart, Jack has bigger problems ahead of him. He will be deeply affected by the loss of Melvin.
So the cat is now out of the bag. Many readers wondered if they would ever see a zombie in this series. I know it was a slow build but it was done with a purpose and goal in mind. Now that the bandage has been ripped off, you will see a lot more zombies. Lots more. I just didn’t want to beat everyone over the head with zombies from the onset. I thought a drip, drip, drip of a few undead here and there would drive the curiosity and anticipation through the roof. For some it worked. For those one-star reviews on Amazon? Maybe not.