Zombie Invasion

by R. G. Richards

  She heard his shouts, then his footsteps as he closed the distance. She changed direction and pumped her arms harder. The night had been long and had worn her out. With her last bit of strength, she ran away from people, away from the club, and away from the cars. She ran between two buildings down an alley. Halfway down, a loud sound rang out and she felt a whooshing go by her head. She dived behind a trash bin.

  Two more bangs came. It was a gun. The man had stopped his chase to shoot at her. Was she wrong? She pegged him as a rapist; perhaps he was nothing more than a thief. If so, he would gladly kill her and then rob her of her belongings. She cradled her small purse while pressed against a wall. The area was filthy. She dare not look to see what she touched. The thought occurred to her to throw out her purse. Perhaps he had been in the club and seen her haul. If she threw out the money, he would take it and leave. It was worth a try. Still, she didn’t want to give up her tips. If April didn’t come through, they would be in a bind. Another shot rang out and the decision was made.

  “If you want my money, here.” Brittany flung the purse in his direction.

  Another shot rang out, then another, and another. She screamed and made herself a smaller target. Another shot rang out.

  “Take it! It’s all there, four hundred dollars! That’s all I have. Take it and go!”

  She heard footsteps. No more bullets, only footsteps. Joy sprang in her. She would live. Thank God. While clutched in her ball, she gave praise to the most high, mumbling to herself. After a while, the booming sound of her heart tearing a hole in her rib cage stopped. Breathing became manageable. She ordered her thoughts, then gripped her keys. She had no money and would have to count on her mother to square things. Before, that would be a difficult proposition, unthinkable. Now, she didn’t care. Brittany saw the big picture. She was safe and her job was to get home to her safe bed. She stood.

  A shattering blow struck her. Her knees gave way and she crashed to the pavement. Without touching or having the strength to touch, she knew blood gushed from her head. Though her eyes refused to open, her nose verified the scent. If you have been to as many bars and witnessed as many bar fights as she has, you intimately knew the smell of blood. No question about it, she was bleeding.

  Brittany’s mind raced, trying to keep up with the events and make some sense of them. Attacked at her car, chased, shot at, and whacked with maybe a baseball bat, what next?

  As her mind raced, the obvious came into focus. Sprawled on the ground, car keys dangling off one finger, too hurt to move, bleeding, too out-of-it to open her eyes and see, she felt a thump against her right leg, then her left. Both legs fell apart.

  She felt heavy breathing and then felt his touch. Next, she felt a ripping of her orange shorts as they cleared her body. Her near nakedness evoked a guttural sound of joy in her attacker. After another tear, her panties hung by the slimmest of threads on one side.

  “You’re going to enjoy this, bitch,” said a deep, gruff voice. “Yeah, baby.”

  With two or more thumps, or kicks as it were, more room was made available. Now, the fog lifted. Her head pounded from the pain of hitting the concrete and the gash in her scalp was painful enough to send her into orbit, but she remained still, suppressing them both. She had seen enough movies to know what comes next and what her practiced response would be. Brittany was a fighter and this was one more battle she would claim victory over.

  Images of her past flooded her. She saw a man over her, taking pictures with a salacious grin surrounding crooked teeth. Another image of an old man pawing her and making her shiver came into focus. Another image of an old man inside her, tearing and shredding, creating damage that could never be repaired haunted her. These images should have forced surrender and caused her to curl into a ball and die. They didn’t. To her surprise, a stranger sensation overtook her; she found strength in her horror images. An uplifting power she had not known before. She felt it spreading throughout her limbs, empowering her to action.

  Through squinted eyes, she saw her attacker–a man, wearing a wrestler’s black mask pulled over his face. He wore black gloves. If she needed further proof, she only need look to the rest of his black outfit. The gleam in his eye told her he was a hunter and he meant to claim his prize.

  “Yeah, baby.” He licked his lips as he unbuckled his pants, staring down at the lifeless body at his feet.

  Controlled panic set in. Brittany was accustomed to the shenanigans of customers, but never faced it on the streets. That part took her by surprise, so she made her body even more lifeless, drawing him in for the kill. She had her keys. They could be used as a weapon. She thought about stabbing him through his neck. As he unbuckled more, she dismissed that idea in favor of a new one. Keys were great, her mouth, better. The arrogant prick would no doubt try oral first, at least she hoped. A hard clamp down and he would writhe in pain and she could make her escape. Yes, it could work. More panic set in as doubts surfaced. Why would that work? He had kicked her legs apart and was standing between them. She could not cover herself and suspected her mouth was the farthest thing from his thoughts. For him to rape her and try oral after was not something she could stand.

  Brittany thought fast. After what felt like an eternity, it dawned on her. As subtly as she could, she opened her mouth, wide, and let the tip of her tongue lean out to peek at the rarely seen world. She gave a slight moan. Through squinted eyes, she could verify she captured his attention. She played dead. Dead and alluring.

  Who could resist a beautiful blond goddess with her mouth wide open? Who could resist her delicate, inviting, red lips?

  “Oh, shit!” he said, panting. He looked around nervously, clearly swelling with lust. Stepping over her lifeless leg, he came to those succulent lips.

  Brittany smelled his alcoholic aura before he knelt. Then, came a whiff of the filthiest kind. The smell sent her reeling. Trying to focus on her attack, play dead, and ignore the stench was too much for one so young. She winced.

  As she opened her eyes to view the curious smell, he shoved. Brittany tilted her head to the side. She bit into his left thigh and swung around with her left arm. She jabbed the keys home, once wildly, high into his abdomen, and then near his groin.

  “Aww! You bitch!”

  The man swung down with unmatched power. With one swing, her head rolled away from his thigh. Looking at blood from his thigh and holding himself, his face reddened as he swung at her again.

  “Bitch!”

  Brittany did her best to fight. She made an error that would cost her dearly, but she would not surrender. He would earn his prize. She flailed around. Feet, legs, hands, and arms flew with fury. She screamed and whaled on her attacker. He deflected easily and moved in for the kill.

  “Bitch!”

  Another blow stopped all struggle. The ringing in her head was unbearable.

  Dazed and confused, she could only be vaguely aware of the pawing. She had found strength through horror images once, perhaps a second time would prove fruitful. Her mind retreated to the past. To her pageant days and the men who took her picture and pawed her. She pictured her doctor’s face as he told her the sad news: she could have no children because of childhood scarring.

  Power never surged in her, the images faded. What to do, now? Deeper she withdrew to put up a wall and shield her inner being from the coming pain.

  Then it happened. As his weight pressed against her, she felt a surge of power. It was electricity that shot through her and gave her energy. “No!” she couldn’t retreat, she had to fight. It’s not too late. It will never be too late. Fight damn it, fight. Another surge. “No!” she hit with all her might and landed a blow that stilled him on top of her.

  Brittany hit at her slumbering giant. Then she saw the horror—they were not alone. Though her attacker breathed down on her heavily, raspy, his breath was not the only breath present. She shoved hard and rolled him off of her.

  Brittany saw the gun, it lay near her. She dived for it, grasping i
t in her grip. She stood, aiming at her first attacker, then the second.

  “Whoa! Hold your horses, Missy.” The black man put up his hands. “I’m your rescuer, not your attacker.” He dangled a metal pipe in his right hand. She saw blood on the pipe.

  “Who are you?” the words came out quick and strained.

  “Samson.” He smirked.

  She mulled it over. The man held a bloody pipe. Her attacker was bleeding. Had she wounded him with her newfound strength or was it this man? Could he be her savior? Satisfied he may have contributed, but unsure of his intentions or why he was there, she relented. She aimed the gun at her attacker with one thought in her head. She pulled back the gun’s hammer with delight.

  “Wait! I’m not going to be a party to a murder.”

  “You won’t.” She aimed at him a second time.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “I’m going to blow both of you away.” She returned his smirk. “No witnesses. Then, I am going home and taking a long bath.”

  He took a brave chance, his hands eased down as he kept eye contact with her. “My name is Samson. You wouldn’t happen to be my Delilah would you?”

  His smile put her at ease. Lucky for him, she loved humor.

  The day was harrowing and if not, she would have noticed she clutched a gun with two hands wearing a thin Hooter’s shirt and panties that clung to her by the tiniest of threads on only one side. She swallowed hard.

  “I doubt that gun has many bullets left,” he said. “In fact, if my hearing is as good as it was back in the day, my guess is you have one bullet left. You are not seriously going to waste the last bullet on your Prince Charming, are you?”

  The words gave her pause. She mulled it over, looking at her attacker. She had prayed earlier. Were the words a sign from God? The barrel of the gun found its new target. Her finger squeezed around the trigger.

  “Wait!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t do it,” Samson advised.

  She hesitated.

  He rushed to her side, extending his pipe. “In times like these, one bullet is never enough. I want you to leave him alive, in pain for the rest of his miserable existence. Every time he winces, he will think of the beating you gave him. Take this pipe and beat the shit out of him. Pay him back for what he did to you and to any other woman out there crying herself to sleep. Make him hurt.”

  He didn’t give Brittany time to react. He snatched the gun from her grip and flung it over a building.

  He looked her in her eyes and gave a devilish smile. “Play ball.”

  Brittany took the pipe and walked to her assailant.

  “No! No! No!” the man screamed.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” the first blow was the hardest, a shot to the head.

  Samson was at her side in a flash, gripping the pipe. “Don’t kill him. Make him remember this day, this second, for the rest of his life.”

  Brittany nodded, realizing her mistake. The rest came easy. Brittany howled and swung, over and over again. She executed a strategy for crippling, not killing. She had electricity about her that kept her under control and she gave him hell.

  After nearing exhaustion, she gave in to the man’s everlasting pleas and stopped. Samson, who stood off to the side, began unbuttoning his pants. By the time she looked up, he had them in his hands. He walked to her with them on his arm.

  She held her pipe high. “I wish you would.” Her fierceness knew no bounds. Exhaustion faded with a wave of new energy.

  Samson stopped. “Forgive me, I should have known better.” He bowed and extended the pants. “You can’t very well walk the streets naked. Have a safe trip home. May your bath waters remove this filth from you forever.” He laid the pants at her feet and walked away, down the darkened alley.

  Brittany collected her thoughts. Her attacker whimpered. He would not touch another woman, she was sure of it. She knelt to grasp the pants and quickly put them on. After which, she knelt beside her moaning attacker. Curiosity made her unmask him. He was young, twenty-five perhaps, with blond hair like her. The thought of one of her people as the attacker was demoralizing. He stared at her with gray eyes. She first believed them to be brown. They were attractive eyes. If not for the long scar on his left side, he would be gorgeous. Even in this state, he could get a woman. She knelt to his bloody ear and spoke softly and clearly with purpose.

  “If you ever touch another woman, I will find you and kill you. You hear me?”

  He could only nod through his severe pain.

  “My name is Brittany Dushell. Remember me.”

  She gave another whack of her pipe and then began a search for her purse.

  It took time for Brittany to find her purse. While she was at it, she recounted her money to make sure every penny of it was present and accounted for. She would have hated to search her attacker’s pockets. In the end, what the hell? She took his twenty and knife, then made her way to the end of the alley.

  Ahead, she saw a black man walking in white boxers down the road. He stood out and brought a smile to her lips. “Hey!” she ran to catch him. He turned, then waited for her.

  “Wait up,” she said, breathless.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not moving too fast,” she teased.

  “No choice. St. Louis cops and my kind don’t mix too well. They see me like this and I’ll get listed as a sex offender.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be, that’s life.”

  “It shouldn’t be that way. You’re a hero. I forgot to say thank you, so thank you.”

  “None needed. Thank God for somebody with commonsense hearing your cry.”

  He moved off, but Brittany followed. He gave her a whimsical look.

  “What can I do for you, young lady?”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “There’s a mission on Tanner Street.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.” He moved off again.

  “Wait. I’ve got a place not far from here. You can wash up and get your pants back.” His stare was odd. She fumbled, thinking of something more she could add to her offer. “I’m not much of a cook, but there’s a pizza joint around the block from my place. You take a bath and I’ll go get us some slices. I really want to thank you for saving me. If you hadn’t . . .”

  Dead silence filled the void. Samson studied her face, then her Hooter’s shirt. Brittany noticed and wished she hadn’t worn it.

  “If you are not afraid to have a stranger in your home, I accept.”

  Both smiled. Brittany pointed in the direction of her car and they began walking.

  “You know I would never hurt you,” he said after a bit.

  “I know, but just in case I’m too irresistible, I’ll hold on to this.” She lifted the metal pipe.

  He laughed.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, what?”

  “In other words, my young companion,” he chuckled, “you’ll be the only one laying pipe tonight.”

  He chuckled again. This time, she joined him. They shared a laugh all the way to her car.

  Brittany’s house was small and square. A single rose bush dotted the patchy landscape. She shook her head at it as they entered the house, one of many tasks she had to make time for. True to her word, she showed him the bathroom and told him she would be back momentarily. She left him in her house with her valuables and never once thought he would not be there when she returned. Brittany got the pizza and coffee and returned home half an hour later. She found Samson on the couch in the same clothes. After giving it thought, what choice did he have? He was in the home of a pair of thin women and would never be able to squeeze into their clothing. She shook her head, trying not to laugh. “Hey, I’m back.”

  “Yes, you are. Loved your shower. Excellent.” He made a gesture by bringing his fingers to his lips and then smacking as if he had eaten good food.

  “Thanks. I live with my mom. She dec
orated the kitchen and gave me the bathroom. I spend so much time in there that I thought I should give it a little flare.”

  “You succeeded. I’ve never seen a top-of-the-line showerhead like yours before. What is it?”

  Brittany hurried to the kitchen for plates. She returned and sat paper plates on the long coffee table. Sitting next to him, she opened the box, offering him the first slice.

  “Thank you. The shower head?”

  “Oh, it’s a Relexa. Great, isn’t it?” she teased.

  “Let’s just say, I wish I were female.”

  She blushed, then chuckled with him as they ate their first slice of pizza. They watched a zombie movie on late-night television. After which, Brittany gave him blankets and said goodnight.

  The next morning, April hadn’t made it home. A text message indicated she would be home by noon with good news. Brittany relaxed. Feeling exuberant, she made a continental breakfast. She sat it before Samson on the coffee table and as if no time had passed, they continued talking. Finally, it was time for him to leave.

  Brittany had a thought. She rose to retrieve a present, but first, she stopped in the kitchen for a towel. Wiping down her gift, she returned and sat next to him again. “Sorry I didn’t give it back to you earlier.” She handed him the pipe.

  Samson grinned, holding up his hand. “That is a secret science project you are holding in your hands, young lady. It looks like ordinary metal, but it is five times as strong. It’s yours for life.”

  “What?”

  “I saw how you wielded it. You can give it a better home than I. It’s yours. Call it a self-defense gift. You make sure you smash every creep that comes your way. No mercy, baby girl, no mercy. Promise?”

  Brittany gave a hearty laugh. “I promise.”

  “Good, it’s settled. You have a new weapon of mass destruction at your disposal. May I offer a small suggestion?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you thought about the military?”

  “What about it?”

  “Joining. You have a lot of fight in you. That’s what makes a great soldier. I’m a retired Captain, I would know. What you showed in that alley, that can’t be taught. You’ve got it and you can help a lot of people who need a champion on their side. If you join up, you can specialize and become black ops.”