Rhapsody in Orange

by Kevin L. O'Brien

reached the ground, before they could close with the troops. As two ran towards him and Kaylee, keening in their monotonous wailing voices, she raised her pistol and fired, knocking one backwards off its feet, as he swung his machete around in a wide arc and cleaved off the top of the other corpse's head as it tried to grapple with him. Meanwhile, a horde of dozens flowed over the barricade in a continual flood.

  "We don't have awhile!" He shoved a whistle in his mouth and blew a single long blast, then spit it out.

  He started to retreat. "Fall back!" Tapping his ear, he spoke into the microphone next to his left cheek. "Cover us."

  Behind him he heard the platoon sergeant shout, "Fire!", and a second later came the pop of mortars going off as the forward squad retreated. Shells screamed as they arced high above, then dropped steeply down on the other side of the barricade. Fragmentation shells went off some twenty-five feet above the ground, while incendiary shells fell to earth. Their explosions lit up the night as the rising fireballs illuminated the surrounding city ruins.

  Kaylee had rushed ahead to join her squad, as the two machine gun nests on either flank opened up. Though normally ineffective, their purpose at that point was to slow the macabre advance. Even if a corpse wasn't killed, a .50 caliber slug could still throw it down or tear off one of its legs.

  Yet a huge number still got through, forcing the marines to fight the cadavers off before they could retreat further. The snipers fired as fast as they could, and the rest of the platoon had gathered at the fence, shooting through the chain links, but they had to check their fire to avoid hitting their comrades. West stood in the open gate, holding it against any zombies that came near.

  "Come on! Move your sorry butts! We don't have all night!"

  A few had fallen under the surge of walking dead, but finally they reached the gate, and ran as their friends opened up with everything they had. Kaylee stood off, letting her squad through as she helped cover them. But she wasn't sufficiently armed to hold the cadavers off, and four of them caught her and bore her down. As three held her, fighting and cursing, the fourth began to rip off her clothes, to expose the tender flesh beneath. More dead swarmed around her, and as soon as they had denuded her they knelt and tore into her body with their teeth. Only her head stuck out of the mound of carcasses, and she started screaming as she bent it back. She stared at him, imploring with her sky-blue eyes for help. He hesitated only a moment, but long enough for a corpse to clamp its mouth on her neck, silencing her in a spray of blood. Then several more converged on her head and she disappeared from sight.

  Too late, he fired into the grizzly mass, screaming in rage, until his platoon sergeant pulled him behind the fence. One soldier tried to close the gate, but a couple of corpses caught him and pulled out into the mob, but another grunt managed to slam the gate closed even as several cadavers tried to get through.

  "Fall back!" the platoon sergeant barked, pulling West with him. The marines complied, and the horde slammed into the fence. It held, swaying under the press of bodies, but everyone knew it would not hold for long.

  Regaining his senses, he shook off his top sergeant. "Keep them at it; don't let those bloody zombies press too close."

  "Yes, sir." But West didn't pay attention. He focused on Whateley and made a beeline towards him.

  Before he could reach him, however, the self-proclaimed wizard made a final, spinning leap, threw his arms into the air, and shouted out a single word. West didn't catch it, but he doubted he would have understood it even if he had.

  Whateley closed the book when he reached him. Despite its size, he took it from the marines and cradled it to his chest.

  "Are you finished?" He put all the sarcasm he could muster into his tone.

  Whateley turned to stare at him. That gaze did not intimidated him as it did others, but the old man did remind him of pictures he had seen of Charles Manson, except his hair and beard were dirty gray-blonde and his eyes were almost black.

  "I have just completed the ritual, Lieutenant." His voice sounded strong despite his age and physical condition, and somewhat hypnotic.

  "Good, because I really want to tear you apart right now."

  "With help so soon on the way?"

  "Damn you, we're about to be overrun. We're trapped, with no escape. And I just lost several good men, including Sgt. Summers."

  Whateley's expression did not change, but his voice did manage to sound mournful. "A pity; my friends would have loved to make her acquaintance. Oh, well, you have a number of other females that will do as well."

  Find the story here: [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/401863].

  From "Youthful Indiscretion"

  As soon as the block fully reassembled itself, the tolling stopped. Apprehension crept over Henry; he knew something was about to happen, he just didn't know what. Then the room began to grow dark. He looked around at the lights. They didn't appear to grow dim; in fact, they seemed as bright as ever. Rather, the areas over which they cast their luminance shrank as the borders became more distinct and sharp. Beyond them, the room fell into shadow like it would at twilight when the sun had set but the sky was still bright.

  In that moment They appeared in his room. It wasn't like how Vlad emerged from shadow, or the affect of Dr. Mabuse's transporter machine. Quite literally one moment the room was empty, and next five beings stood in its center. The thing he noted first was the stench. Though not overpowering, it was enough to turn his stomach, and yet overlaid was the scent of vanilla, which partially mitigated but could not completely cover their foul, rotten odor. At almost the same time he spotted the blue phosphorescent glow that surrounded them like a mist.

  Their most horrific feature, however, was that each was deformed or mutilated in some hideous fashion. One was morbidly obese, with its face so swollen with fat that the wrinkles distorted and obscured its features. Another had a flap of skin covering its eyes while its disfigured mouth had the lips pulled back well away from its mouth and the teeth clattered together endlessly like it was chattering. The third was the size of child about his same age, but its flesh had been seared as if in a barbecue while its eyes stared out from their sockets without blinking. Number four looked like a teenage girl, and while bald was otherwise unmarked, except for a gaping wound in her throat held open by small hooks. They all wore clothing that looked like a combination of religious vestments and butchery garments, except they were made from black leather and vinyl. The robes exposed areas of skin on their chests and stomachs, and it was pierced and sliced and coated with fine powder, like talcum, or...ash? The garments themselves were sewn or hooked into the skin, as if that was needed to hold them in place, in the manner of buttons or zippers.

  But the fifth and foremost, whom he took to be the leader, was the most compelling. He was hairless, with dead-white skin, and his face and scalp was etched in a grid of lines. At each intersection a large pin or small nail had been driven into the bone below. Unlike the others, who looked vacant or mindless, he seemed intelligent and aware. He stared at him with a sardonic half-smile, as if he alone knew a secret others would give their lives to know. It sent chills down his back even as he felt ill. Yet despite how repulsive they appeared, there was something about them that he found fascinating, even provocative. Even as he feared he would vomit at any moment, he felt enchanted by their presence, even a little bewitched.

  But then the nail-headed one frowned, like he realized something was wrong. His companions moved towards the bed, he assumed with the intent to take him, but as they tried to go around their leader, he held up a hand.

  "No, he did not summon us."

  Summon!? He stared down at the block in horror. That's why it was in the vault! How could I be so stupid!

  Vlad appeared in an explosion of shadow, in front of the bed between him and the monsters. "Run, Little Master!"

  Whatever spell, psychological or psychic, that held him in that room broke, and his terror galvanized him. He ran for the door to the nurse's room, p
ulled it open, and made for the opposite side, which led into the nursery. From there he could access the secret stairwell and make his way down to his mother's office. She would protect him.

  As he reached the other door, he heard the one to his bedroom slam shut.

  Vlad moved to block the door to keep the Cenobites from following his Master's son, but he felt the one called Pinhead extend his power to push it closed.

  "Vlad Tepes Drakulya." Pinhead regarded him with what appeared to be an arrogant expression. "Have you finally decided to surrender yourself to us?"

  "No. My current existence still satisfies me."

  "Then why do you interfere with our actions?"

  "I defend the Van Helsing Bloodline. So long as I draw breath, no harm will come to those who possess it."

  Pinhead sported a bored expression. "So be it." Even as he spoke, iron hooks at the end of heavy chains flew out of the walls, ceiling, and floor. The chains wrapped around Vlad's body, ensnaring him, as the hooks dug into his flesh, ripping through to the bones. They lifted him off the floor and spread-eagled his limbs even as they pulled him apart.

  Through the haze of agony and blood he saw Pinhead scan the room in a slow manner, as if searching for something. "The one who summoned us is not here. Come, we must search for him." They turned as a group and