NASTY LITTLE F!#*ERS

by David McAfee

  “They’re all dead,” he said. “The whole team.”

  “You saved one, though,” Anzer said from behind her shoulder.

  “You sure did,” Janice added, squeezing Colby’s hand.

  “Yeah,” Colby said. He looked up at her, and this time he even smiled a little. “I saved one, didn’t I?”

  She bent down to kiss him again, and this time when she pulled away, he was still smiling. She walked behind the wheelchair and turned it around, taking Colby back to the rear door of Anzer’s Lincoln.

  “There’s just one thing, Anzer,” Colby said. “When I get out of this chair I’m going to have to kick your ass.”

  Anzer smiled. “Sorry, Colby. A sat phone just wasn’t in the budget.”

  “Budget, my ass,” Colby replied. “I’m still gonna beat the shit out of you.”

  “When you get out of your chair, we’ll talk,” Anzer replied.

  Janice told them both to shut up while she helped settle Colby into the rear seat of the car, then went around to the passenger side and climbed in next to him. Up front, Anzer started the car and pulled away from the gravesite.

  ***

  Anzer smiled as he watched Colby and Janice in the rearview mirror. It’s good that they found each other, he thought. Colby needed someone to look after him, and Janice? Well, she’d been through a lot, and could use a strong positive presence like Colby around. He obviously cared about her, and she would be moving to Maine soon enough. Their relationship was a good thing.

  His hand found its way to his chest, and his smile grew. Speaking of good things… he lightly rubbed the fabric of his shirt, feeling the pleasure from the queen on his chest. This mission hadn’t quite gone as planned, but the queen wasn’t angry. She was never angry. Like him, she knew there would be other opportunities.

  THE END

  A Note from the Author

  In 2009, Ghostwriter Publications agreed to publish my novel 33 A.D., about a vampire in Biblical Jerusalem who tries to assassinate Jesus of Nazareth. Additionally, they asked if I had something short and campy, like maybe a B-Movie type of horror book along the lines of The Rats or Night of the Crabs. I didn’t, but I did have a short story I’d been working on about a group of scientists who get trapped in the woods of Northern Maine and have to survive attacks by tiny insects and the zombies they create.

  “Perfect,” the folks at Ghostwriter said. “Make it novel length and send it in.”

  Well, as you may or may not know (chances are if you’ve read my blog you do), I am no longer with Ghostwriter Publications, but damn if those scientists weren’t still running for their lives up in Aroostook County, Maine. Given that I’d done pretty well on my own with 33 A.D., I figured I’d give Colby, Janice, and the rest of the crew a shot to find their own way into your hands. If you are reading this, then that means they succeeded.

  Personally, I love this story. It’s campy, funny, scary, and reads a lot like those great old B-horror movies from way back, which is exactly what it was intended to be. I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t put nearly as much research into this story as I did 33 A.D., but this story isn’t meant to be serious or even thought provoking. It’s just meant to be a good time. Hopefully you enjoyed it as such.

  But whether you liked it or hated it, I want to say thank you, dear reader, for going on this trip with Colby and the crew. Time is a very precious thing, and I know there are a million ways we, as individuals, can spend it. I’m honored that you chose to spend some of yours with me.

  David McAfee, January 2011

  About the Author

  David McAfee was born in Lakenheath USAFB, England, and spent his youth traipsing about the globe with his military family, soaking up the cultures of faraway places like the Philippines, Turkey, Spain, and even California. When David was in his tweens, his father retired to Texas, which David still considers home.

  He started writing at the tender age of six, albeit on a much smaller scale, and today his work can be found in at least one horror magazine.

  David currently lives in Tennessee with his wife, daughter, and a small army of loyal but dysfunctional pets. He enjoys writing, motorcycling, and spending time with his family. He can be reached at Monkeyfeet73@yahoo.com and can be visited on the web at mcafeeland.wordpress.com, connected with on Twitter (@DavidLMcAfee) and Facebook (David McAfee).

  Other Books by David McAfee:

  33 A.D.

  Saying Goodbye to the Sun

  The Lake and 17 Other Stories

  A Pound of Flash

  The Gallows Tree (forthcoming)

  BONUS MATERIAL

  Excerpt from TORMENT, by Jeremy Bishop

  20

  “Stay here,” Mia whispered to Liz. She’d quickly checked the second floor bedrooms and deposited Liz in a closet. The girl shuffled back into the closest, hidden behind a rack of hanging suits that must have come from a Big n’ Tall store.

  The stairs to the third floor were at the center of the hall and ended at a closed door. A thick, beige carpet covered the steps and concealed her approach. She paused at the top of the stairs, trying to remember how police officers breached a room, but then realized every image she had of the maneuver was from a TV show.

  With her left hand on the door knob and the gun in her right, she slowly turned the handle and nudged the door open. Other than the bottom of the door brushing against the carpet, she managed complete silence.

  The third floor was one large room. Four skylights above and a large, front looking window filled the room with the tangerine glow of the setting sun. She searched the long room for any sign of the person she’d heard and found nothing. There were two arcade games; the screens blank. A mini-bar filled the back corner accompanied by a card table and dart board on the wall. The front half of the room held two plush couches and a TV screen that looked big enough to service a stadium theater. But the centerpiece of the room was a pool table. Ornately carved from red oak, the table sat at the center of the space. A large stained glass fixture hung above it.

  The most interesting thing about the pool table was what lay on the side.

  A bullet.

  Her bullet.

  She walked toward the round, staring at it. “Austin?”

  “Didn’t want you to shoot me.” Austin’s voice came from behind her. A small bathroom was hidden behind the stairs. He stepped out, wiping off his face with a hand towel.

  She wanted to leap at the man and hug him. Having written him off as dead, she felt glad to see him. She lowered her gun.

  He walked to the pool table and picked up the round. “Thanks for the message. I came in through the fire escape after checking out the backyard.”

  “How did you get here so fast?” she asked.

  He took out a pool ball and rolled it across the table, bouncing it off the cushion. “I wasn’t that far behind. Wanted to make sure you weren’t being followed.”

  “You were watching us?”

  He nodded. “I was in the woods behind the house.”

  “Could’a told me.”

  “Worried?” he asked with a grin.

  “Asshole.”

  Austin laughed and looked beyond her. Liz was standing there. He stopped smiling.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Austin. We decided that curse words weren’t offensive anymore,” Liz said as she entered the room and sat on a couch.

  “I told you to wait,” Mia said, a touch of anger in her voice.

  Liz shrugged. “I thought it was safe to come out with them.” She thumbed over her shoulder as Mark arrived, carrying a novel. Paul and Chang followed him, also carrying novels.

  “There a book club I don’t know about?” Austin asked.

  “Only form of entertainment that’s not going to get us killed,” Mark said.

  “Running for your life isn’t entertaining enough?” Mia asked.

  “Food’s here,” Collins announced as he entered carrying two brown bags full of non-perishable food.


  White and Vanderwarf followed, hands empty. Garbarino was last. He closed and locked the door at the bottom of the stairs then joined them at the top. He looked honestly pleased to see Austin. “You made it.”

  Austin stopped the rolling pool ball. “One almost got me. Snuck up behind me while I was distracted.”

  “Were they armed?” Garbarino asked.

  Austin shook his head. “They were...insane. No weapons. Came at me with hands and teeth. Like animals. A few of them weren’t any trouble. But if I wasn’t armed...or if the rest of them showed up.” He shook his head again, this time looking at the floor. “Wouldn’t have turned out the same.”

  After a moment of silence, he moved to the end of the pool table and reached under it. He motioned to Garbarino. “Help me on this end. Vanderwarf. White. Get the other side.”

  Together, the four of them moved the heavy table in front of the fire escape door on the side of the house. With the downstairs sealed, the second floor door locked and the pool table blocking the only other exit, they were sealed in tight.

  As night settled, the group ate boxes of Hostess comfort food, spoke little, and one by one dropped off to sleep. Vanderwarf and White lay down behind the bar. No one could see them, everyone knew the two were dealing with the destruction of the world in their own, primal way.

  “Going to have to start repopulating the planet sooner or later,” Paul had whispered to Mark, but the priest wasn’t laughing. Despite his normally humorous personality, he had fallen more serious as the sun descended and the sunset turned blood red. But if darkness filled his thoughts, he kept it to himself and eventually nodded off. Paul slept on one of the couches, snoring lightly. Chang had found a bean bag chair and fell asleep halfway on, lying on her back with her head cocked back and her mouth wide open. Collins fell asleep as he often did in the Oval Office, head down on the table. He’d started playing solitaire, but wasn’t having any luck.

  Liz fell asleep on Mia’s lap while she sat in a comfortable chair to the side of the front window. Had it not been pitch black outside, it would have offered her a view of half the neighborhood for nearly a mile. Austin sat on a stool across from her, arms folded across his chest keeping watch in the other direction.

  “Strange, isn’t it?” he said quietly.

  “What is?” she replied.

  “That sound.”

  She listened, but could only hear the breathing of several sleeping people and Paul’s snoring. “I can’t hear anything.”

  Austin picked up a pillow from the arm of the couch and tossed it at Paul. The man snorted, rolled over and fell quiet. “Outside,” Austin said.

  She reached forward slowly and opened the small window. She held her breath and listened. At first she heard nothing. But after a few moments she heard...something. High pitched. Reverberating. Very distant. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Screaming,” he said.

  Goose bumps sprung up on her arms. He was right. Once he identified the sound, she could hear it for what it was—screaming, from hundreds, if not thousands of people. “What’s going on out there?” she asked.

  As though in reply, a light outside clicked on.

  Austin sprang up.

  Mia gasped.

  “Motion sensitive light in the driveway,” he said. “Must have a battery backup.”

  She heard nothing but “motion sensitive.” Someone lurked outside. She shifted for a view of the driveway and saw a man. He moved quickly, but not in a single direction. Like a squirrel in the road, unsure of which way to run from an approaching car, he leaped one way and then the other. She could hear his panicked breathing, squeaking with fear.

  “Should we help him?” she asked.

  Austin shook his head, no. Instead, he whispered, “Close your window.”

  She did so, quickly and quietly, careful not to jostle Liz and wake her up.

  “I don’t think he could have heard us.”

  “It’s not him I’m worried about.” He motioned to the others. “It’s them. I don’t want them to wake up. I don’t want them to see.”

  “See what?”

  “You didn’t hear the voices?”

  She shook her head, wondering if her hearing sucked or if Austin just had really good ears.

  “The people who attacked me. Who attacked Reggie. They all shouted warnings first. Apologies. Like they didn’t want to be doing what they were about to do. Like it horrified them. I could hear them coming.” He motioned out the window. “And so can he.”

  The man was still running in circles. Then, through the closed windows, Mia did hear another voice. A woman’s. Then a man’s. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could see them. Running shadows. Three of them.

  The panicked man finally saw them coming. Or maybe heard them. And turned to run in the opposite direction. But he was so out of his head with fright that he turned and sprinted into a tree. The three descended on top of him before he could stand. The woman went for his neck with her teeth, cutting off his scream. The two men tore at his stomach. Blood pooled around him as they slaughtered the man.

  From beginning to end, the attack lasted only fifteen seconds. The two men and the woman stood above the body, wailing. Crying like children. They disappeared into the night again, leaving the dead man behind, his entrails looping over the driveway, his blood glowing bright red under the halogen glow of the motion sensitive light.

  Mia and Austin stared down at the body in silence.

  When the light blinked out again, Austin whispered, “We’ll go out the back in the morning. Get some sleep.”

  She thought sleep would be impossible, but she sat back, closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the view of stars outside had been replaced by blue sky. For a moment, lost in the comfortable place between sleep and reality, she forgot everything that had happened.

  That’s when Liz started screaming.

  BONUS MATERIAL

  Excerpt from 33 A.D., by David McAfee

  Chapter One

  Jerusalem, 33A.D.

  Ephraim darted around his modest wood-and-mortar home in the Upper City, grabbing as many of his possessions as he could carry – mostly clothing and a few personal items – and shoving them into a large burlap pack. Every now and then his brown eyes shifted to the door, waiting for a knock. Or worse, no sound whatsoever. The latter worried him the most because it would mean the servants of the Council had found him. A Psalm of Silence only carried for about twenty paces, so if the world around him went suddenly quiet, he would know those who hunted him were very, very close.

  As an Enforcer, or at least a former Enforcer, Ephraim knew the inevitable result of breaking the laws of his people, a race not known for mercy. Now, as he packed, he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d felt the need to tell the Council about his indiscretions. Bad enough he’d defied them, but he also gave them all the information they needed to punish him. And for what? A strange feeling in his heart? A pang of conscience? Was he mad? In retrospect, it seemed possible, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. His elders wanted him dead, and unless he hurried they would get their way.

  A worn, woolen tunic hung halfway off his bed. I’ll need that, he thought as he reached for it. He couldn’t afford to leave a single piece of clothing behind. He stuffed the tunic into his bag and turned to regard a large chest on the wall opposite the bed. He reached down and flung the lid open, breaking one of the hinges in the process, and started grabbing more clothes. I’ll need that. And that.

  Then his fingers closed on something small and hard. He didn’t have to look at it to know it was his ceramic wolf’s head figurine, a symbol of his former rank. I won’t need that. Ephraim tossed it over his shoulder, where it shattered on the hard floor. He didn't pay it any attention as he picked up a short, fat bladed knife. I’ll need that, too. It joined the many tunics in his bag. Just as he picked up a pair of worn breeches, a noise outside his door caught his attention.

  What was that? Ephraim
froze, craning his ears and trying desperately to catch the elusive sound. He stood silent and still for sixty long seconds, muscles tense and booted feet nailed to the floor. The breeches hung from his fingers like a mouse in a raptor’s claw. He eyed the sickle-shaped sword on the opposite wall, ready to spring over and grab it if necessary. Although the sword was very old, he kept it sharp and in perfect balance, not easy to do with a khopesh.

  When the noise didn’t return, he shook his head. The wind, he told himself, and returned to the task at hand. He had to hurry. They were coming.

  He couldn’t allow himself to be captured by the Council’s minions. They would make him talk, and that would be bad. Not just for himself, but for his newfound friends, as well. The elders of the Bachiyr race had many methods by which to extract information, even from one of their own. All of them brutally effective. If they caught him, they would find a way to make him talk. Sooner or later Ephraim would tell them anything they wanted to know, the only real question was how long would it take to break him.

  As he packed, his hand brushed against a small figurine of a lamb from the shelf above his bed, knocking it off and sending it toppling through the air. “Damn!” He reached out to catch it and missed, but his fingertips brushed the delicate figurine just enough to alter its course so that, instead of following the wolf’s head to the hard floor, the lamb plopped down amidst the soft linens on the bed. Ephraim breathed a sigh of relief when the delicate figure didn’t break, and reached down gently to pick it up. He didn’t miss the irony that he, the predator, had thrown away the wolf figurine and kept the lamb.