by M. D. Massey
Outside, three zombies had approached the passenger side of the tank and were attempting to climb up the steps to attack Melanie through the window. She belonged to him! He wasn't going to let any zombies take his pet and turn her into one of them. There were plenty of zombies to kill in the world. He didn't need any more. He pulled out his pistol and downed the first one, shooting it quickly in the head. And then the second. The third one already had its hand inside the window and was grabbing at her. She leaned out of its reach.
Neville ran to the creature, who was wearing a yellow Hawaiian shirt, and grabbed its neck and yanked it out of the window. It fell to the ground and he shot it once between the eyes. Taking care of that, he stepped up to look in the window and inspect her body for scratches or bites.
"Did it get you?" he asked, cupping her chin gently in his hand, looking at both cheeks.
"No," she said, shaking her head in his grip, tears rolling down her eyes. "Thank you for saving me," she said.
"You belong to me now. I'm not going to let the zombies take you. How do you feel about that, pet?" he asked.
“I don't want to die," she sniffled.
"Well, do exactly as I say, and I won't let you die. I won’t let the zombies take you, and I won't kill you myself. Is that agreeable to you?" he asked.
She nodded in agreement and he opened her door.
"Then I can untie you. Would you like that?”
She nodded, more tears streaming down her cheeks. She was so pretty when she cried. He cut the straps around her wrists and ankles and closed the door as he stepped out. He walked around the driver side door with his basket and threw it in the back seat.
"What is that?" she ventured.
He almost slapped her face for speaking out of turn but decided to humor her curiosity.
"It's my insurance policy. To keep you from running away."
"I won’t run away," she said.
He looked at her and smiled, a deep sense of satisfaction rising in his gut. He had never imagined it would be so fulfilling to have a woman remain loyal to him. This was a new sensation he'd never felt before. He usually felt the deep pleasure from torturing them, cutting up their bodies, mutilating them and then slowly killing them. After that he defiled the body until it became rancid. That was his usual routine, but now that the world had become his playground, maybe he was achieving some personal growth. All Neville knew was that he liked her loyalty to him. He believed that he could make her stay, like a good little pet. It was a new sense of power he hadn't expected. Power he liked.
He pushed his foot on the gas and started out of the parking lot. He wanted to take her somewhere special to put the collar around her neck. It needed to be a special moment — he'd never taken a pet before. He wanted to make the feeling of power last so he could savor the memory later.
More importantly, she needed new clothing. Now that he’d decided to keep her, he didn't want her breasts jiggling around for any Tom, Dick or Harry to see. Those belonged to him now. They stopped in front of a department store, and he helped her out of the vehicle. She took his hand like a lady he was escorting on a date. The look in her eyes had changed from fear to respect. It was ever so satisfying to know he could do almost anything he wanted to her, and she would stay by his side.
Sure, she was afraid of the zombies, but she trusted him. She depended on him. She needed him. The feeling of power swirled in his chest. They walked into the store, she held her ripped clothes over her exposed breasts and he smirked to himself that she was still so modest. The girl was in the middle of a zombie apocalypse with the man who'd kidnapped her, tortured her, and murdered her boyfriend. He’d been the who’d ripped the shirt open in the first place. She would be so fun to bend to his will. The innocence of her trust filled him with the most pleasurable sensation.
They walked into the department store and they went straight to the designer clothes section. He found her a short, tight-fitting gold dress and told her to put it on. She looked at him with shy concern. He cocked his head toward the dressing room.
“Go try it on,” he commanded.
She trotted off to the dressing room while he looked for shoes. He found a pair of patent leather platform pumps that would go perfectly with the dress. He peeked into the dressing room and called out to her.
“What size shoes do you wear?" he asked.
"A seven," she said, obediently.
He went back to the shoes and found a size seven. A moment later she walked out of the dressing room and he handed her the box. Her voluptuous curves looked perfect under the gold fabric. She slipped into the shoes and gazed at herself in the dressing room mirrors, turning from side to side.
"Not bad," he said.
He took her hand and they walked back out into the store. He found her a black fur coat for her, and piled the basket full of additional dresses and shoes, along with makeup, perfume, and everything else that would please him to see her wear. He smudged red lipstick on her lips and blue eye shadow over her eyes. He stood back, staring at her, satisfied with her new look.
"Let's go. And I have something extra special to give you."
"You've already given me so much," she said, in a small voice.
"But I have so much more to give you, Melanie. If you are a good girl, I'll give you the whole world."
He took her hand and pulled her out of the department store. Several zombies milled around the tank. He shot them and helped his pet into the passenger seat of the vehicle. She buckled herself in like a good girl, and he closed her door. Climbing behind the wheel, he considered where he should take her. A five-star hotel might be appropriate, but anywhere like that would be crawling with zombies. Maybe somewhere romantic like a hilltop with a view.
They were on their way from central California to the coast. He knew the entire way would be riddled with the undead. But this was their special day. The day he would claim her as his own little pet, and she would pledge her loyalty to him as her master forever and ever. Until he tired of her, or her death. Which would probably be the same time.
He never imagined keeping a captive alive would be satisfying to him. But now that the world was a living hell, the ruler the devil himself, he needed a little she-devil of his own.
It took another hour to reach the coast. He pulled out onto a secluded beach in a rural part of the central coast. The sun was beginning to set over the ocean. Red light streaked across the sky. She walked with him to look out onto view of the ocean. He pulled the collar out of his pocket and showed it to her.
"I'm going to take you as my pet," he said.
She scooped up her hair for him as he placed it around her neck as if he was giving her a diamond necklace. He attached it tightly enough that the electric prongs touched her skin. He then used the bolt tool to clamp it on permanently. She would have to saw through the leather to get it off. He then pulled the electric remote control out of his pocket.
"This is a remote control. If you don’t please me or try to run away. All I have to do is push this button. It will give you a hundred-volt electric shock. I have it set on the highest setting for the largest dog.”
He then pressed the button to demonstrate. Her knees shook and buckled as she screamed and fell. He scooped her up in his arms and kept her from falling. She looked up into his eyes, her pupils dilated, her lips swollen, and her mouth open. He leaned in and kissed her hard on the mouth. She was so beautiful in that moment with the blood red light washing over her face.
"I won’t run away," she whispered. "I promise."
He placed the choke collar around her neck with the leash that ran down between her breasts and it fell to the ground.
"I will not kill you, as long as you please me.”
He picked up her hand and kissed the soft tender flesh on the back of it. It was the most romantic moment of his life, and he felt a stirring sense of attachment to his little pet. He needed to know that she fully belonged to him. She needed a new name. A name he had given her.
>
"I will now call you Delilah," he said. He took both her hands in his and held them, caressing the backs of her knuckles with his thumbs. "What is your name?" he asked her.
"Delilah," she said.
"And who do you belong to?" he asked.
"I belong to you," she said.
"Very good, my dear,” he said, picking up the long leather leash that hung between her breasts. “Now we will go and rule the world together, just as the devil planned for us. How would you like that?”
"I'd love it," she said, following him into the sunset.
About the Author
Ana Nix is a horror author who is always busy killing zombies, hunting evil spirits, and taking care of her sweet family.
In her free time she enjoys sharpening her knives, traveling the spirit world, and walking her adorable tiny dogs.
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You can find more about Ana on her website!
Afflicted: Patient Zero
Derek Shupert
Copyright © 2015 by Derek R. Shupert
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All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Introduction
Hunger. Terror. Survival.
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Captured and held against his will, Mike finds himself on the receiving end of genetic experiments. Tortured by injections and left to live in subhuman conditions, Mike and his fellow test subjects struggle to survive in a scientifically engineered hell-on-Earth. The virus they have been exposed to has caused varied yet brutal effects on those exposed. With most succumbing to the ravenous flesh-eating hunger of a twisted inhuman being, the underground testing facility in which they are held has become a battleground for survival. Even with his elite military training, veteran Mike knows that the virus will destroy him too unless he finds a way to hold on to his humanity and escape this living nightmare. With the aid of those left to linger, Mike and his companions must find their way deep into the heart of the facility and escape before it’s too late. With the poison in their veins dragging them into the depths of depravity, every second counts in their pursuit of freedom. Is there enough humanity within to keep the virus at bay and return to the light? Or is the world at large in danger of this horrific, mutating scourge? In Afflicted: Patient Zero, the struggle for survival drives one man close to the brink--and the fight for humanity begins...
1
The flickering light swinging above my head is driving me crazy. Between the incessant squeak and those creatures out there, I can barely hear myself think. Gosh, it smells like a toilet in here. Out of all the places to get trapped, why the hell did we come into this small, dank wash room? The walls look as if someone sprayed urine all over—dried, yellow, and faded.
The bites on my legs and arms are deep, and turning a purple-reddish color. Whatever it is the infected are carrying I can feel it coursing through my veins, playing pin the disease on the only human left.
Doesn’t seem to be any reason to dress and wrap the bites as they seem to be festering now with some thick, yellowish fluid that runs out like Niagara Falls. My skin feels as if it’s on fire. Something seems to be lurking beneath, ready to tear through my measly flesh and scurry away. Man, I hope it’s not an alien.
The only person I have come across so far who was not trying to kill me is not saying much. I did not have much of a choice though. Sorry Ray, one bullet between the eyes seemed to be the only way.
Was that even his name, Ray? I just met up with him a couple of hours ago, running from those crazy bastards. If I’d seen that nasty gash on the side of his neck, I would’ve done him in right then and there. Why take the chance? Then again, he could have just popped me once after I got gnawed on like a chicken leg. Maybe we were caught up in the moment of having those blood drenched, spike like arms reaching for us, and hoped the other might be able to find a way out of this hell. I guess hope springs eternal, right?
Ray, we’ll just stick with that name as it seems fitting, sits across the room with his brains splattered all over the wall. His deep black eyes just stare at me. I did him a favor and used my last round to send him somewhere better. I will probably be joining him soon enough.
I check my pockets, hoping to find a fresh clip. Bupkis. My pockets are barren except for an old Zippo lighter with a dragon breathing fire on the side and a photo I.D. of someone that looks like me.
Trent Gazner.
He does kind of have some of my features, but I’m much better looking. Vanity in the face of death, I must be on the verge now. The banging on the door increases, the sound growing louder by the second. Bet there are tons of them out there now, foaming at the mouth, those razor sharp teeth glistening from the spit running out as they savor the coming meal.
I finally get the nerve to make a move—it must be the virus—and try to stand up. I have little to no energy and my vision is shot to hell. Everything is distorted and foggy, like looking through a coke bottle from the tip and out through the bottom. My one good leg, which shakes like a baby’s rattle, straightens and locks in place.
“If you want me, then break down the damn door and get me. Don’t make me wait forever.”
I slowly make my way across the room to the grimy sink that is covered in God only knows what. It’s probably a breeding ground for a community of diseases and germs. At this point it really doesn’t matter. Getting a side dish of tetanus along with what I’ve already got couldn’t make things much worse. At least now I can lean against something and relax as they break the door in and ravage my crippled body.
My leg gives out and I drop to the floor. With my empty Glock loosely gripped in my left hand, I fade in and out of consciousness. The sound of moans and growls play like a lullaby, and my mind retreats to another time and place.
“Mike baby, I love you so much!” Becky says as the waves crash behind her.
As I lie there in the sand, the warm sun shining down upon us, I look into her eyes and feel one with her. Her long, dirty blonde hair flows on the back of the breeze. She smiles as she brushes a few strands behind her right ear. She touches my face and instantly my heart begins pounding, making me feel like a young boy again. I run my hand up her mocha soft skin, cupping her face in my palm.
With a giggle and the sweetest smile, Becky gets up and throws the towel wrapped around her waist to the ground. Her body is that of a goddess, and I take in every inch as she runs toward the crystal blue water. We come to this secluded beach where you can see the ocean floor from the shore every year.
She dives into the middle of a crashing wave, disappearing momentarily. She loves the water so much that sometimes I think she’s a mermaid. I lie there, soaking in the breathtaking scenery that spans for miles. My life feels complete, as if happiness is just something I have, like breathing.
A noise in some overgrown grass distracts me. It sounds like some animal is hurt or growling, not sure which one. The wind picks up, whipping around the sand. Tiny granules penetrate my eyes, and I clap my hands to my face. Crap that stuff hurts. It feels embedded in my skin now and my eyes are irritated.
I hear something run behind me, fast and out of sight before I can even think to turn around. The smell is the only thing I’m able to catch—death and a hint of rot. Panicked and worried for my Becky, I get to my feet and try to look towards the ocean.
“Becky, where are you? Please answer me!”
For a brief second, I think I spot her just beyond the breaking tides. She seems unaware that anything is going on, but as I blink again and try to refocus on her, she vanishes. My eyes feel like sandpaper is rubbing off the c
orneas. The sand shifts, the waves crashing into the rocks all around me, taking me from worried to just pissed off.
I stumble around like a crazy person off their meds, cussing and screaming at the blowing wind. I spot someone or something up the beach a ways, which I can’t make out. It’s just standing there, still as anything. I swear I can hear it breathing from where I am—low, deep breathes that sound like an animal about to attack. I scramble, feeling around on my person, searching for any sort of weapon I can use to defend myself. All I seem to have is a pocket knife and the heightened sense one gets when the shit is about to hit the fan. I think it’s that fight or flight response. I’m not about to run so this joker in front of me might as well tuck tail and beat it.
I bring my attention back in front of me, ready for whatever may happen, but the figure is gone. I take a step back, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and hear something behind me. Time to die. I twist around before the thing can react and jam my blade into its flesh, driving it in with everything in me. Warm blood gushes out and down the blade, swallowing my hand whole.
Satisfied, I let go, allowing the lifeless creature to fall to the sand. By now my vision is clearing and my eyes focus on what now lies before me—dead. Instead of a hideous monster or some rapist that got his just dessert, Becky lays on the ground, terror filling her teary eyes.
I drop to the ground on my knees and grab her out of the sand, my left hand cradling her head. My heart is in pieces. What have I done? What kind of sick and twisted game is being played on me right now? I would lay down my life to save her.
