by Bonds, Javan
It was already apparent to me some other force was planning our lives. For what reason? Was it merely for the entertainment of this entity? That’s fucked up if you think about it. We’re living a story written by some deranged independent author... a macabre screenplay directed by an unhinged filmmaker. Has reality always been fiction in some other universe, or is it a recent thing?
Like usual, my questions were going unanswered. Reaching around for my rifle, my jaws tightened. Amy caught the scent at the same time I did. “Like, you smell that?”
I nodded. “Vlasic.”
With a questioning look, she was about to speak. Devin cut her off with a correction. “Mount Olive... zesty garlic.”
She nodded at that. “Like, totally!”
Why would anyone be eating pickles at this very moment at this location? “How?” My copilot could only shrug at my bewildered question.
Only sighing, I moved out of the enclosure, resting my weapon on a tall back chair in direct line with the front glass. Elated, hungry shrieks started sounding from a distance. With inhuman speed, the terrible wails of the insane monsters grew in intensity. Every peevie for several counties seemed to be rushing our way. The enemy was coming!
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More than one undead could be seen surging from our east, far out of range. Even without the clear protection at the front of the building, I wouldn’t have taken a shot at the distant creatures. I was pretty sure they didn’t know we were here and were driven by their insatiable craving for vinegar. When they did realize humans were before them, their bat-shit crazy rush wouldn’t alter in the slightest. Just more food!
It was a complete shock to see the first thing impacting glass wasn’t a blue penis covered in shit. Several times before, I’d seen the blue-skinned revenants run straight into glass, like flies or bees in summertime. The invisible wall was always a surprise to them. It took quite a bit of animal contemplation to find some way through the unseen barrier. They had finally learned to use stones or other heavy objects to break through.
I’ll never be sure if it was a rock or a brick. The peevies sure understood glass now. I just don’t know if the particular projectile thrower had been in this location previously. Perhaps they knew the invisible hard stuff would protect the front of a building. It was frightening they could learn that so soon after May Day. At this rate, they’ll be speaking and writing in the next few weeks!
The majority of the business’s storefront was glass. When it shattered and crashed to the floor, our first line of defense was now broken into a million pieces. At least, though, we could be thankful those pieces were sharp. Zombies would be slowed by the deep lacerations on the bottom of their feet. Well, the first few dozen would anyway. Those entering would eventually be walking on the destroyed bodies of their fallen comrades.
Countless blunatics appeared, hurtling over the barrier at the front, and onto the shards of glass. Starving, slobbering, crazed cannibals began an earsplitting squeal as they were shredded. Blood gushed with each movement. The peevies already inside were being slashed to ribbons...and we hadn’t even fired a single round yet!
Of course, every surface around them was being sprayed with what looked like slimy, oily, blackened grits...complete with chips of burned bacon! Books on shelves, the walls, and even somehow the ceiling were being coated in soft, sticky dark chocolate. Those receiving gashes in the bottom of their feet either managed to push through the surely unbearable pain or simply stopped. Ghouls continued hurrying on through the bookshelves. In seconds, whether or not they had already smelled us, they would find out we were in the structure.
A monster looked straight at me, stopping dead in its tracks. Spotting new prey, it let out a horrible, keening roar that seemed to shake the walls. Every scourge within earshot now had another reason to pay a visit to Shades of Pemberley. Something a little more nutritious than pickles was now on the menu.
Before it was finished giving its echoing call, I bestowed upon it a three-round burst of 5.56. The punctures started in the center of the chest, right above the sternum. Stringy crimson plumed when the second impacted the collarbone, ricocheting into the spinal column and rendering its arms useless. Bullet number three struck just under the Adam’s apple, rupturing arteries and destroying trachea and esophagus. That last one popped out the back of the neck just below the hairline, clearly destroying the cerebral cortex. The beast went rigid and dumped a large septic tank worth of nightmarish, black Silly Putty onto the carpeted floor between its legs and collapsed.
Zombies were vaulting over bookshelves, squeezing themselves down the lane of impending doom. Shoulder to shoulder, one on top of the other, they unthinkingly charged, face-first into high-powered death. Driven mad with bloodlust, vinegar lust, or both, they would sacrifice anything just for a drop. A taste of either prize was worth every loss to them.
My girlfriend fired her rifle, hitting two for one. The shot collided with a peevie, running on its hands and knees, in the center of the forehead. The missile arced upwards, tearing through pinkish-gray matter and coming out at the crown of the skull. Staring ahead blankly for a moment, the animal dropped after spraying baby diarrhea all over the aroused genitalia of the male behind it. I guess because its end was so disgusting, it deserved what it got.
The recipient of a clumpy pubic hair treatment took the round on its left side, right in the ribs. No clue whether it passed between the bones or they were just so malnourished and weak, but they must have split like butter. Lung was perforated before the projectile tore through the pericardial sac and destroyed the heart. The animal was able to take one step. That would be its last conscious movement. Next, the only thing left for it to do was drop like a sack of shitty potatoes.
Systematically efficient, Devin made precise headshots on particular undead. Why didn’t he just do that with every damn one of them? It would’ve saved time and lead. Maybe he couldn’t. Perhaps, whatever it was that gave him the ability to see into the future also prevented him from taking such actions. He was allowed to make things happen, keeping the plot moving along and the story entertaining, but he was forced not to make it too easy for us.
That’s utterly terrifying. It means we’re not just actors in a play directed by some wacko higher being; we’re nothing more than marionettes being controlled in a twisted show. I still want to know who’s watching. What kind of sick fucks would be entertained by the horrible shit we go through every day?
I guess there could be no audience. Perhaps this cheap B movie is just conducted by an off the rocker director merely for his own enjoyment. But then again, it’s hard to find any form of entertainment that doesn’t have at least a few fans. So, for those of you deranged bastards that dig this type of stuff, enjoy my memoirs as long as I can keep writing them.
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More diseased, filthy, blue bodies, both unliving and almost dead, were crammed into the once tidy bookstore than is imaginable. The growing wall of undead corpses nearly blocked our view of the street. To my right, Landers must’ve been given permission to throw grenades. The first was a white phosphorus.
It goes without saying; he cooked it before tossing. Without landing on the floor, it blossomed into a giant magma flower, nearly even with the top of the barrier. Zombies climbing over their fallen brethren stopped in screaming torment. They dropped either in front of the mass of organic structure or behind, out of our view. Sizzling fire ate through dermis and muscle, didn’t slow at all when reaching the bone, and usually came to the other side of whatever appendage or part of the body it landed on. The pain had to be so intense; the horrifying wailing couldn’t do it justice.
I chose that moment to get involved with the game of hot potato. Putting all I had into the launch, over handing a frag at the shitty barrier. My timed bomb stuck in something a few feet from the ground. I had no clue whether it was just crap, sticky blood, or any of the other disgusting body fluids leaking from the downed monsters. We were about to be able to see
the outside once more.
Suddenly, it exploded. Bloodied body parts and organs rained for an impossibly long while. Nasty ichor was splattered onto everything in at least the front half of the building. Though they were still making headway, the blue team was receiving heavy losses.
There were uncountable splayed open bodies in front of us. Enough crimson filled this book store, and the Red Cross would never need to hold another blood drive. Yet this didn’t slow the bonkers nudists. Slip sliding in the slick juices of their fellows; they were nowhere near their destination. Bones were broken each time a zombie crashed to the ground... or even onto the gooey remains of earlier attackers.
Another one of my fragmentation grenades bounced within reach of one of the comers. It stopped and looked at the device on the floor. The demon, cocking its head, was trying to wrap its infected mind around what it saw. Before it could take another action, the projectile went off, ending the contemplative ghoul.
In a blinding flash, I wasn’t able to witness the final instant of the possible thinking monster. So much vile detritus rocketed onto the ceiling. I would never be able to pick out any of the still boiling remnants of that one former human. The monsters were becoming intelligent enough to use tools, cut apart humans piece by piece, and were gaining an understanding of unit formations. Were they now becoming aware some projectiles exploded? If they understood that, did that mean they would eventually start being able to use grenades? Shit, that’s scary.
It’s not a query of “can they understand?” We should be asking, “how long” until they start understanding more?” Imagine pantsless, blue archaeologists in a few millennia trying to make sense of the primitive culture of the forerunners with external coverings of fabric on their bodies. I’m not sure they could ever grasp toilets.
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Everything got quiet... too damn quiet. Well, I mean besides the already crippled and dying revenants, crying and whimpering from their crumpled positions around the store. Feeling no remorse for shooting injured enemies, we quickly put each out of everyone’s misery. After that, it became genuinely silent. One could’ve heard a pin drop.
“Like, was that all of them?” Amy thought aloud.
“Must’ve been. I don’t see anymore out there, and they ain’t too sneaky. Where could they be?” I turned to Devin.
“Tambourines, Elephants...” he said in a wistful singsong. Next, my copilot stood and walked to the front of the gaping store.
I was about to ask him if he just got home from Illinois... when it hit me. Swiveling my head, I looked at my girlfriend. She had a view unobstructed by bookshelves of the rear of the building. “Do you see a backdoor?”
“I see, like, a regular wooden door.” She nodded.
Pointing to Brandi’s bookshelf castle, I knew what was important. “Grab your Jane Austen, and let’s get moving.”
“Jane Austen, for reals!” Elecktra ran through the entrance, holding a plastic bag in her hand. As soon as she stepped back out, bag crammed with paperbacks, we both briskly set off to the front.
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As my feet crunched on broken glass, before touching the sidewalk, I heard banging at the back door. “I guess they’re gonna get the pickles. Does that mean they won?” I laughed.
Being Captain Obvious, Landers made a flat statement. “Not really.”
Amy joined in my glee. “Like, they got freaking owned, totally!”
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Just before Devin started up the rotors on Skywalker, I heard it. The sound of that simple, wooden door at the back of the business splintering on its hinges. Though I wasn’t able to make it out, I could visualize blue, naked monsters piling over one another to get inside. No humans. All they would find was their truly dead brethren. And the ultimate prize... vinegar!
With the help of Roberto Martinez, a local handyman, our whirlybird now featured a mounted minigun. No, I have no clue where he got it... and I’m not going to ask. Is there a Browning manufacturing plant around here that I don’t know about?
Once we were in the air, I stood behind the 7.62 mm, ready to send some tracers at the horde. As Skywalker rose and banked toward Guntersville, I pointed the mini in the general direction of the assembly of peevies in the ally behind Shades of Pemberley. I chose not to squeeze the trigger. We were still alive and got what we came for. Glancing back at my girlfriend, I could tell by the smile on her face she was happy. That made it worth it, right? Hell, yes, it did!
The Seahawk wasn’t slowing, so I saw no need to waste ammo. There’s always hope some of them would just die in the coming days... from starvation or whatever. Besides, they weren’t currently posing a danger to my life. I wouldn’t shoot animals for no particular reason. Call me an environmentalist. You could bet the evil sumbitches would get no quarter next time we were up close and personal.
Again, I looked over my shoulder to Amy. “Next time you talk to Randy, be sure to tell him to send a team up here. There might be some books left worth salvaging.”
So thrilled that she finally had a copy of Pride and Prejudice, Amy nearly glowed. “On it, dude! And, like, thanks.”
The woman of my dreams could show me how thankful she was later. With a lopsided smirk, I tipped my hat. “All in a day’s work, ma’am.”
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19
Take These Chains From My Heart
“This is some bloody shite! Can this room really exist?” Saunders looked on incredulously.
When the door sealed behind them, they were bathed in pitch blackness. Elliott, feeling his way across the room, found the blackout curtains and pulled them back. The bright sunlight exposed this church... temple... asylums’ armory. They either raided a National Guard arsenal after the fall, or Miss Cassandra was an avid collector of firearms.
Paul started walking to an assault shotgun hanging on the wall. “Even in the States, I’m not sure this stuff is legal.”
His mate started sliding the actions of loaded pistols back and shoving them into his waistband. “You mean was.” Playfully chiding, he started pulling full magazines from desk drawers and pushing them into his pockets. “Legal don’t mean balls anymore. We gotta use everything we got to make it outta here alive.” In agreement, Rawlings clicked his tongue.
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Neither of them bothered even looking out the door for what seemed like hours. Occasional screams of torment came from the hall. Paul could envision the injured and immobile, cultists they doomed, being slowly ripped apart. Steaming entrails would string onto the ground, before being slurped up by a greedy zombie.
Damned souls unfortunate enough to still be breathing would be carried down to the hellish nest. They would be kept alive for as long as possible. Suffering would be the consuming memory of their forsaken, elongated lives. Peevies wanted a fresh harvest!
Impossibly, pleading cries for grace from anything penetrated the walls and thick door of their noise-proof sanctuary. Wonder what happened to them girls Cassandra brought from downstairs? Paul asked himself. Though he didn’t yet know it, there was a little bit of resistance left in those subjugated wenches.
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Jenyfer Conaway, Sherry McIntire, Rachel Regier, Mary Roark, and Angie Spence were the handful of afraid, and naked women huddled to the right of the entrance from the first floor. All they could do was cringe together, watching the backs of the mysterious strangers annihilate their fellow cultists continually. Even if they wanted to come to the aid of Miss Cassandra and her disciples, the feverous lunatics who had used them as a tribute to The Protectors, they were completely unarmed. If the interlopers won out over their current owners, they couldn’t be treated any worse than they already had been.
As the trespassers closed on the cult leader, she walked closer. With an unheard monologue, Machemer tossed something straight up into the air. One of the two remaining intruders threw his axe to slam into her head. He started running at her the second before she collapsed, taking a sliding dive.
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Obviously, he was attempting to catch whatever it was she tossed up. Though it was barely audible from the concubines’ lengthy position, shattering of glass was a cataclysmic sound. They didn’t know until the scent reached their olfactories, but regardless, deep down, they knew. Before the barking and shouts of the evil creatures below them, they were aware. Vinegar!
Only seconds after it impacted the ground, ravenous, insane calls from starving animals came. At first, the elated barking was just simple excitation. In no time, angry howling could be heard from multiple demons. The Protectors were on their way... and they were hungry!
☠☠☠
Mary gestured to all the downed fighters. “We’re gonna need to defend ourselves when they get here. Let’s make some kind of effort!”
They did a quick run through all the bodies, searching for anything worth using as a weapon. Not anywhere near armored, all the women habitually covered themselves with some piece of clothing. Though they would doubtfully be cast in any PG-rated movie, they at least felt more comfortable not being as naked as The Protectors. Somehow, each managed to find something not dripping with blood or other human remains.
Clearly taking the role of commander, Roark positioned herself at the end of the hallway, smacking the hilt of the bloodied fire axe in her left hand. Jenyfer stood to her right, wielding a steak knife in her grasp and several other utensils in the waistband of a pair of procured, loose-fitting jeans. Sherry and Rachel both held broken wine bottles, jagged glass on the business end. Finally, Spence had each fist around both aluminum baseball bats, crossed to make an X in front of her.
Incessant Roaring grew louder as the monsters topped the landing of the stairwell. It became eerily quiet; then the door opened. Nothing happened for a moment. Finally, one blue, yellow-eyed, naked, emaciated figure appeared. Looking over at the five females that had earlier left the hive, it smiled wickedly. Pulling its arm back, it threw its shoulder forward with a bark. A second, third, ten, dozens of starving revenants barreled out the door and straight at the unprepared women.
