by Ian Woodhead
Welcome to the Dead Bones Six Pack.
All six books of the best selling Zombie Armageddon series in one collection for the first time ever!
This book collection is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright October 2014 by Ian Woodhead
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, scanning or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
The Unwashed Dead
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank all those wonderful people who, over the years, have supported and encouraged me to continue writing. You all rock!
Edited by Monique Happy Editorial Services
http://moniquehappy.com
Chapter One
Ashton Naylor leaned forward and inspected the cupboard doors behind his feet. After years of neglect, the cheap pretend wood was ready for scrapping. He slammed both heels of his size ten army boots against the doors, and ground his teeth in annoyance when he discovered that the scratches he had left just blended in with the rest of the damage.
If he’d managed to have broken in his new Docs before this party, Ashton knew that those bastards would have smashed through that wood no problem. He took a deep breath, leaned back and rested the back of his head against the grease-coated tiles. Ashton knew a guy who’d be able to get this shitty kitchen looking well smart, with top of the range units, a decent hob, even proper ceramic tiles. This fucking lino was well past its sell by date as well.
It was all pointless even going down that road. His mate’s parents couldn’t give two shits about the state of their house; the bastards weren’t in it long enough to even notice that the place now resembled a run-down squat.
Ashton put aside yet another pointless idea for making a few extra notes and got down to the serious business of building up his joint.
As far as he could work out, the kitchen had to be the quietest room in the house. That infuriating music blasting out of the living room still leaked through the thin walls and the kitchen door, aggravating his pounding headache. At least in here, Ashton could hear himself think.
It was beyond him why his best mate always had to play this annoying trance music. Ashton did understand that it was Darren’s house and Darren’s party but, even so, the guy should at least take his feelings into consideration. This crap music really did get on Ashton’s tits.
“You’re such a miserable bastard, Ashton,” he muttered. Judging by the amount of kids packed into the house like sardines, he was the only one who held the opinion that this music was a bag of shite. Even from in here, Ashton could hear the others jumping up and down and screaming like a huge bunch of fucking retards.
He screwed up his eyes, pressed his head against the cold tiles and tried to think of anything other than this grinding headache. Ashton had thought that it couldn’t get any worse. It looked as though he was so wrong on that score. He had even contemplated grinding up a few painkillers and sprinkling them into the joint as well. Hell, the way he was feeling he’d do anything to get rid of this pain.
The kitchen door abruptly burst open. Ashton tried not to scream in pain when he felt the foul racket coming from the living room bursting his eardrums. The gummed papers and tobacco mixed with weed fell through his fingers. He watched them drift down and land in a spreading pool of spilled lager.
Ashton slowly raised his head, feeling the deep rage rise through his thin body. His gaze settled upon a scruffy tart with short-cropped dirty blonde hair, wearing some god- awful lime green dress that was so tight, the bitch looked as though she’d been poured into it. She kept her thin fingers wrapped around that door handle and just stared at him as if he was some stupid puppy displayed in a pet shop window.
He had never seen this docile-looking girl before, staring at him with her moo-cow eyes, not that Ashton was all that surprised. This wasn’t his party and Darren Belmont knew just about every teen in Breakspear estate.
“For crying out fucking loud!” he screamed. “What the hell are you staring at me like that for? Shut that bastard door and make sure that you’re on the other side of it, you dumb bitch.”
He let out a satisfied sigh when the girl yelped as if he’d just backhanded her. She ran back into the room and slammed the door behind her. For one brief moment, Ashton thought about what he’d said to upset her. He tied that thought to a rock and threw it out of the window. It was her fault for giving him the stare.
He shut his eyes and slowly counted to five, wondering if he had been too rash with his comeback. From the brief look he got, the lass did have a decent-looking body shoehorned into that very tight dress. If the tart was swanning about at one of Darren’s parties, she was bound to be a bit on the loose side. Ashton didn’t think she’d be edging towards the wizard’s sleeve category just yet; she only looked about fourteen. She might have been a half-decent lay though.
Ashton thrust his hand deep into his jeans pocket, searching for his last packet of cigarette papers. If he thought that shagging some bird would sort out this fucking headache, then he’d be after that young tart like a bullet from a gun.
The door handle dropped down. This time he tried to control the rage to stop it from boiling over. If it were that girl again, he would at least attempt to be civil. As long as she shut that bloody door and didn’t talk, Ashton might be able to stay polite. If it was anybody else though, he swore that he’d jump off this kitchen counter and punch the cunts into the middle of next week.
His anger cooled down a couple of notches when he saw his mate framed in the doorway, looking a little bemused. Darren walked into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.
Whereas Ashton had a bit of weight on him, his mate looked like a walking corpse. Darren was built like a sweeping brush with an eating disorder. Not that Darren had any problems with putting away vast quantities of food, the lad just never piled on the weight, but it didn’t stop Darren Belmont from being one of the hardest lads that Ashton knew. They had both been in a few battles with other kids from the neighbouring estates, and he considered it an honour to watch the master at work. Darren just went fucking psycho in a scrap. Ashton had the utmost respect for his best mate.
“I hear that you’ve been a bit shouty, mate. Was there any need to upset my guest like that?” Darren strolled over to him and snatched the papers out of Ashton’s trembling fingers. “Just what the fuck is wrong with you today, buddy? You’ve been acting like a puff with a sore arse all bastard day.”
“What is with you, Darren? Don’t you listen or something? My head is feeling like I’ve got a brass band playing in there,” Ashton snapped. “I should have done what I said earlier and stayed at home. I need my bed, not a fucking party.”
His mate handed the papers back to Ashton, all gummed up and ready. “Oh yeah, I remember you saying something like that this afternoon. This headache thing is catching; there must be a bug going around or something.”
Ashton muttered soft thanks and fished out his battered baccy tin from his denim jacket pocket, wondering if Darren did have any aspirins kicking around the house. This headache was getting well scary now; it felt as though some cunt was pushing shards of glass into his ear.
“Yeah, my mum was proper bitching about having a headache as well,” replied Darren. “To be honest, I wasn’t really listening, but thinking back, she did seem to be a bit fucking worried
about it.” He grinned. “You know me though, Ashton, most of the time, I just tune the fat bitch out.”
That didn’t surprise him. Darren had stopping taking any notice of his mum before he'd left primary school. “Where are they now?”
“I’m buggered if I know, mate,” Darren said, shrugging. “I think Mum fucked off to the shops after turning the house upside down, looking for some tablets.”
Ashton sighed inside, that answered his question.
“I haven’t a fucking clue where my dad went. Knowing him, he’ll have fucked off to the pub with his stupid mates. They’ll all be sat in their usual spots and getting pissed. Good riddance to both of them, that’s what I say. I can do without those old bastards coming back, they’d have a right fit if they saw the state of the ‘place’.
If Ashton’s head wasn’t so fucked with this pain, he’d have probably fallen off the counter, laughing. A dozen bombs detonating in each room would have improved the state of Darren’s shitty house. He moaned again. He felt as though a dozen bombs had detonated inside his skull. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on trying to open his tin. After the third attempt, Ashton managed to pry off the lid.
“You don’t look all that great, mate. Is it your old man again? Is that bastard still giving you a hard time?”
Ashton slowly shook his head. Apart from this pain, he wasn’t sure if anything was wrong with him. For the first time in months, his old man hadn’t gone anywhere near him, apart from a sly crack around the back of the head a couple of weeks ago when he’d caught Ashton nicking his fags. He’d not properly punched Ashton for ages now.
He figured that his dad was getting his end away. The bastard always mellowed out if he got regular sex. The obvious candidate had to be that old trout with the big tits who worked in the Horse and Jockey. Ashton knew that his dad had been inside her a few times in the past.
“I dunno, Daz, I think it’s just lots of little things this time.”
His mate took out two Bensons and offered one to Ashton. He declined and started to sprinkle his own baccy into the paper groove. “It definitely isn’t my dad, Darren, not this time. He’s been pretty chilled out with me all week.”
“Yeah well, if he does get fresh again, just said the word, buddy. That big fat cunt doesn’t scare me, I’ll drop him for you.”
His promise meant a lot to Ashton. He would, too, and knowing him, he’d probably succeed in putting his old man on the floor. Daz looked after his mates.
“There is one thing that’s been bugging me, Daz. Do you know Kevin Riley?”
Darren shook his head. He then stopped and grinned. “Oh yeah, I do know him. That’s Adrian’s little brother, a spindly little bastard with a huge nose.”
“That’s the one,” Ashton replied. “Well, that indignant little fucker gave me a right funny look this morning.”
A bark of laughter burst from Darren. Ashton felt his rage return. Mate or no mate, no twat laughed at him.
Darren placed both his hands on Ashton’s arms. “Will you calm it down, buddy? I ain’t laughing at you. Just the situation. I know what it’s like, all these little things just build up and make you want to explode like a big fucking volcano.”
“Erupt.”
“You what?”
“It’s erupt, Darren. That’s what volcanoes do.”
“Whatever, you know what I mean. Look, pass me that spliff, will you? You’re making a right fucking mess of it.”
Ashton gratefully handed over his gear and gripped his black denim jeans so Darren wouldn’t see just how badly his hands were shaking. He watched with annoyance as his mate built up the joint like a seasoned pro. Darren made it look so easy.
He handed Ashton the now completed spliff. “I’m glad your dad’s stopped being such a cunt to you, buddy,” he said. “Looks like it’s my turn now.”
“What do you mean? No offence, Daz, but since when did you care about what your parents said?”
“Somehow my old man found out that it was me who did those two houses on Beacon Park.”
“Oh fuck, man. Do you know who grassed you up?”
His mate shrugged, “It doesn’t really matter now. It's not like anyone’s going to own up. Although I do have my suspicions. I’m more bothered about what the old bastard will do now.”
Darren’s dad used to be a legend a few years back. Breakspear Rise, the posh estate next to theirs, was his favourite haunt. No house was safe from him. Ashton heard that he’d once escaped the clutches of two coppers by squeezing through a heating vent. Darren’s dad had personally threatened to shop his own son to the police if he ever found that he’d chosen to follow the same career path as his old man. It appeared that his son had inherited his skill for breaking and entering, much to his dad’s horror.
Ashton shook his head. “I don’t think you should beat yourself up about it, mate. He’ll do bugger all, he didn’t last time, did he?” He used both hands to place the spliff between his lips and allowed Darren to light the end.
“Are you going to give us twos?”
Ashton nodded.
“Don’t you worry about me,” said Darren, “let’s get you sorted. Now, tell me why didn’t you accept my little present?”
Ashton shook his head; this grinding headache really was fucking up his concentration. Had he just missed a conversation? He took a deep toke of the joint and relaxed slightly as the dope took the edge off the pain.
“Claire was well upset with you screaming at her like that.”
He finally worked out what Darren was talking about. “So what?” he replied. “Come on, dude, she’s like twelve or something.”
“Claire’s sixteen, man, and believe me when I say that she’s very up for it and she fancies the hell out of you.”
Ashton took in another lungful of smoke before passing it over. Maybe Darren was right. A comfortable bed and some nubile young nymphet kissing and caressing his naked body could be just what the doctor ordered.
“I’m telling you, that girl will make everything all better, lad. I can solemnly promise that young Claire will fuck the tension out of you.”
Darren fumbled around in his back pocket, then handed him a small key. “You wanna hear something really funny?”
Ashton shrugged. “Is this a joke?”
His mate shook his head. “No, look; that kid who gave you a funny look? Well, Claire is his older sister.”
“Yeah, that is pretty funny. I’ll remember this the next time the fucker gives me a funny look.”
“Go on, get yourself sorted and I’ll send her up.”
Ashton jumped off the kitchen top and stumbled over to the hallway door. “I won’t forget this one, Daz. You’re a good mate, you are.”
Darren nodded while taking in the last dregs of the joint. “You owe me one.”
Ashton opened the door and threaded his way through the kids in the hallway. Now that the drug was working its way through his body, the annoying plebs surrounding him and that fucking awful music wasn’t bothering him as much. Even the headache had begun to diminish. He lifted a can of Special Brew out of some cunt’s outstretched hand as he staggered up the stairs; he turned his head and just dared the greasy blonde fucker to take offence. The coward just blanked him, bent down and picked up another can from the small collection by his feet.
Ashton grinned and took a deep swig. He reached the top of the stairs, finished off the lager and threw it over his shoulder, then gazed out of the window. The party had now spilled out into the garden. He wondered if anyone had called the police yet.
Darren lived right in the middle of the estate. Close to the shops. As he gazed to the north, close to the boundary, he saw a cavalcade of blue flashing lights. Even from here, Darren could hear the faint screams of the sirens. It seemed like the local filth had other business to deal with tonight.
That lager had reminded him he needed the bog. If that young tart was going to slide up and down his cock, he’d better make sure that his bladder e
mpty.
The bathroom door stayed shut when Ashton pulled down the handle. He placed his ear against the door and listened to the sound of groaning and panting. He looked at the key in his palm and grinned. It appeared that some of Darren’s guests didn’t have the same perk as Darren.
He banged his fists hard against the panels and chuckled at the sound of something crashing to the floor. He was willing to bet a fiver that one of those randy bastards had just cracked their arse on the bathroom lino.
“Fuck off!” came the muffled reply.
Ashton recognized that voice; it belonged to Bill Curry, one of Ashton’s dealers.
“Open up you dirty fucker, I wanna go piss.”
“I told you, I’m busy.”
He pounded on the door one more time before padding over to Darren’s bedroom. Ashton unlocked the door, looked in and grinned at the massive bed. He couldn’t wait to get busy on there. He shut the door then made his way towards the stairs. Bill Curry could go fuck himself. He decided to fertilize the many weeds that infested Darren’s back garden instead. Besides, he needed a bit of fresh air; perhaps it would help to clear his thick head.
The girl who’d caught both barrels of his temper was trying to push her way through the thronged drunken idiots at the foot of the steps. Ashton had forgotten her name already. Not that it mattered; it wasn’t like he intended to use it.
“Let her through,” he snarled.
Like Moses parting the Red Sea, everyone moved to the sides of the stairs. Now that she had regained her composure, Ashton found that she really was quite fuckable and it pleased him to think that in a few minutes he’d be deep inside the little bitch.
When she drew level to him, Ashton stroked her thick, blonde hair, then dragged his fingers down the front of her body; she gave out a theatrical moan as he squeezed her left tit.
“It’s that door there. I won’t be long, I just need to piss,” he said.
