Pizza Delivery
Page 4
"Yeah, bitch!" Brock jerked it into reverse and floored it.
Mr. Crazy Asshole was almost to the car.
Brock could hear his back tire spinning.
He turned the wheel all the way left. He turned it all the way to the right.
The Celebrity’s engine roared, but the car didn't move.
Mr. Crazy Asshole was now standing directly beside the car. He raised the axe and swung it down into the center of the Celebrity’s windshield.
It cracked and shattered like a glass door, but none of the pieces fell. The windshield stayed in place, a spider’s web of fault lines.
Brock shifted the car to forward and stomped the accelerator to the floor. It didn't budge.
Mr. Crazy Asshole swung his axe. The driver’s side window burst and showered Brock with glass.
He slid across to the passenger side and threw open the door. He leapt from the car, but didn't get five steps before the blade of the axe struck him.
He was knocked to the ground.
The axe ripped through his left shoulder and carved a section from the flesh of his back the size of a fist. Brock had an instant to appreciate that if Mr. Crazy Asshole’s swing had been any closer, he’d be dead.
He sprawled face first to the ground and immediately turned over. His shoulder didn’t hurt yet; it was only a distant throb, a preview of the pain to come once he was out of shock.
Mr. Crazy Asshole strode toward Brock and grinned. His eyes were as wide and as insane as they'd been when he had stabbed his little boy, but they were also focused and what they were focused on was the pizza deliveryman who was now attempting to scoot himself backward across the lawn and having a hell of a time of it as he no longer had use of his left arm.
Brock looked up into those eyes and knew he was going to die.
Mr. Crazy Asshole laughed, except it didn’t sound like a laugh at all. It was a low rumbling that came bubbling up out of his throat; a softer version of the wailing he'd done earlier.
He took his time reaching Brock. Then he placed a leg on either side of him.
Brock attempted to scoot back once more and felt a sharp pain in his right leg. He glanced down at his right hand and was astonished to see he was still clutching the fishing knife.
Mr. Crazy Asshole raised his axe over his head. He looked down into Brock’s terrified face and tipped him a wink.
Brock thrust his right hand forward and aimed for Mr. Crazy Asshole’s balls.
He missed.
Mr. Crazy Asshole’s face fell. He looked down at Brock curiously and smiled.
Mr. Crazy Asshole swayed over Brock, as though drunk or dizzy, and for a moment, Brock feared he might fall over on top of him.
Brock hadn’t hit Mr. Crazy Asshole’s balls. He'd come close, but not quite. He'd hit just beneath them, slicing the less than four-inch blade of the fishing knife into Mr. Crazy Asshole’s inner thigh and inadvertently ripping through his femoral artery.
Blood poured down his leg and spilled onto Brock in a warm rush.
Mr. Crazy Asshole smiled again, but his eyes stayed on Brock. The axe fell from his hands and dropped behind his back to the yard. He began to laugh, that low rumbling laugh of his. But his eyes didn't laugh. His eyes were focused and cold.
Brock looked down at the fishing knife, almost surprised to see it had blood on it. He looked from the knife to Mr. Crazy Asshole’s leg, and back to the knife—slowly, the way one sometimes looks around in a dream, like a drunk trying to comprehend a basic truth.
Mr. Crazy Asshole’s laughter grew louder.
Brock shoved the knife into his stomach.
The laughter paused briefly, then began again.
Mr. Crazy Asshole fell to his butt on the lawn at Brock’s feet, no longer able to stand. He began to cough as well as laugh so that his laughter took on the raspy, choked quality of a life-long smoker.
All the while he was laughing, Mr. Crazy Asshole’s hand was moving back behind him searching the grass for the axe.
Brock didn't hesitate. He got to his knees and lunged, burying his knife in Mr. Crazy Asshole’s chest.
Mr. Crazy Asshole stopped reaching for his axe and another laughing fit seized him, this one greater than before. The sick fuck was dying on his front lawn and laughing like it was the funniest joke anyone ever told.
Brock planted a knee on either side of Mr. Crazy Asshole’s hips. He ripped the knife out of his chest and then stabbed it down again. Mr. Crazy Asshole’s laughter became a low giggle.
Brock began to wail then. It was high wailing, like an opera singer singing without tune.
He stabbed Mr. Crazy Asshole again, and again, and again. He stabbed him until his laughter diminished, though Brock continued to hear it long after it had stopped.
17
BROCK WALKED TO HIS CAR. He got all the way to the door, and then turned away. The Celebrity was done.
His shoulder was throbbing with greater intensity now and Brock knew it was going to hurt like a son of a bitch later. He stumbled as he walked to the road.
He could've gone inside 2675 200 W and used the phone, but he didn't think he could handle being inside that house, knowing as he did what lay in wait in the kitchen to be seen by the next poor bastard who entered there.
Instead, Brock began to walk back toward town.
Eventually, he'd have to explain what had happened, how he'd come to kill a man in the course of delivering a few pizzas. But Brock wasn’t sure he had an explanation to give or that he ever would.
The night was a blur of broken images, none of which seemed to connect. It was a shattered glass door.
It was Maggie he'd think of most in the years that followed. He'd think of how she'd passed beside him, a mere two feet away, and how he'd been too scared to stop her from going to her father. On nights when he drank too much, and for the next two decades, there'd be more of those nights than not, he'd think of her.
He'd talk about going back to school and finishing his degree, but he never would. Thankfully, Skip Stevens would be able to get him on at Huffman's and eventually he'd take up permanent residence in a rental house not too far from Johnny's, Harrington's most popular bar, where he'd spend his non-working hours.
But all of that would come later.
There were no streetlights on 200 W, but the moon was full and bright and Brock could see the road well enough.
He reached into his pocket, using his good arm, and pulled out his cigarettes. He stopped long enough to light one, and began to walk again.
He supposed he'd eventually come to one of the other houses on 200 W and then he'd stop. Or, maybe he wouldn’t.
Maybe the pain in his shoulder, already building, would become so great he passed out.
Maybe some car would stop for him. Or maybe they'd see he was covered in blood, at least some of it his, and decide to drive on.
Maybe he'd go all the way to town on nothing but his own two tired, bloody, and bruised legs.
Maybe he'd just keep walking.
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Praise For
All Together Now:
A Zombie Story
All Together Now: A Zombie Story is by turns disgusting, terrifying, funny, and heartbreaking. Fans of The Walking Dead will eat it up like, well, zombies munching fresh brains. A stellar debut from a novelist to watch!
—Mike Mullin, award-winning author of Ashfall, Ashen Winter, and Sunrise
Robert Kent's All Together Now: A Zombie Story explodes with action, near escapes, flying guts (and other body parts), and bad luck for the main charact
ers followed by even worse luck. In other words, a perfect zombie book. But the heart of this story is its realistic characters. I found myself staying up late over several nights, unable to put Ricky's tale down.
—Darby Karchut, author of Griffin Rising and Finn Finnegan
When I say I found this book horrifying, I mean that in a good way. I mean it in the best way there is. There were moments in this book that completely spun me out. I read the disclaimer, but I wasn’t expecting it to be as intense as it was.
—Anniki's Bookcase
All Together Now: A Zombie Story is a book that is fast-paced, well-written and thought-provoking while still filling its pages with plenty of action, suspense, and, of course, zombie carnage. If you like zombie action combined with dark humor and a twinge of romance than All Together Now is definitely for you.
—Blood, Sweat, and Books
I was absolutely glued to my kindle till the early hours. The short chapters make it easy to read for those who just want to pick it up and put it down, but I bet you can't stop once you start. Every chapter is action-packed, fast-paced and full of suspense, but still maintaining believability even from a 15-year-old's perspective. The action is heart-pounding, gripping, and in some places I actually found myself holding my breath while I speedily read through the pages to find out what was going to happen next... and... breathe.
—Gadget Girl Reviews
I found no faults with this book, it flows well, is edited well and it is wickedly smart. There are also some very good moral lessons which gives us a very good reason to share this book with the young adults in our lives. It is guaranteed to warp their young minds, and hey, isn’t that how we all started to love the genre? I really cared for Ricky and Michelle, I loved the originality of the story and it was never predictable. In my opinion that deserves 5 stars. Whether you love zombies or not, I think you will really enjoy All Together Now: A Zombie Story!
—Horror-Web
Kent doesn't pull any punches. This is a violent story, that not only shows the zombie carnage, but also how humans can be just as nasty and dangerous as zombies, if not more so.
—Pearls Cast Before A McPig
Get Your Copy Now
Acknowledgements
This novelette wouldn't have been possible without the love and support of family and friends.
Thanks so much to all the Esteemed Readers who's reviews of All Together Now convinced me there was a readership for more horror. None of this is worth doing without you, Esteemed Reader.
Special thanks to Steven Novak, whose amazing cover art is the mostly likely reason you're reading this at all.
This story has a long history and I'll never remember all the people I should thank who've helped along the way. But I definitely remember the help of my mentor, the author Will Allison, who's encouragement was essential to me as a young writer. Without his praise and constructive criticism, this and many other stories likely wouldn't exist.
Thanks as always to my writing family, the YA Cannibals: Shannon Alexander, Lisa Fipps, Julia Karr, Mike Mullin, Josh Prokopy, Jody Sparks, and Virginia Vought. What would I do without you?
Lastly and most importantly, thanks to Sharmin and Will, who are my whole world.
Robert Kent, March 2014
Text Copyright © 2014 Robert Kent
Cover designed by Steven Novak
All rights reserved. Neither this book nor any part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
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